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Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  NY.  14580 

(716)  872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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□    Coloured  pages/ 
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n 


Covers  damaged/ 
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Pages  endommagdes 


D 


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Couverture  restaurde  et/ou  pelliculde 


□    Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaur^es  et/ou  pelliculdes 


D 


Cover  title  missing/ 

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0 


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I     y  Showthrough/ 
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D 


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Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 


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D 


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Comprend  du  materiel  supplementaire 


n 


D 


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L?  reliure  serree  peut  causer  de  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
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I — I    Only  edition  available/ 


D 


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obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


□ 


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Ce  document  est  filmd  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqud  ci-dessous. 


10X 

14X 

18X 

22X 

26X 

30X 

/ 

12X 


16X 


20X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


tails 

du 
odifier 

une 
mage 


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filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
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par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
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la  dernidre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  -^^  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  V  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  r/mboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernidre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbole  — »•  signifie    A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbole  V  signifie  "FIN". 


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different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
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right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmds  d  des  taux  de  reduction  diffdrents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  dtre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6,  il  est  i\\m6  d  partir 
de  Tangle  supdrieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


irrata 
to 


pelure, 
n  d 


□ 


32X 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

■           - 

mm 


'"^xp 


OLD  AND  NEW; 


'f 


OR 


TASTE  VERSUS  FASHION. 


BY 


ijuU 


MRS.  J.  SADLIER, 

AUTHORHSS  OP  THE  "blAKES  AND  ftANAOANS  ■•-"  NEW  MOHTS  " 

*C.,    AC,    &c. 


^  1 


G 


7'>  1  '^•-«'^-^-x.>.. 


NEW  YORK: 

P.  J.  KENEDY, 
EXCELSIOR  CATHOLIC  PUBLISHING  HOUSE, 

5    BARCLAY   STREET. 
1895. 


% 
%. 


Copyright : 
D.  &  J.  SADLIER  &  CO. 

1885. 


it 


C  ONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

MATTERS   APPERTAININO    TO    TUK    WORLD   OP   FASHION.         - 

CHAPTER  II. 

BKIXa   A   CHAPTER    OX   THK    WHOLE   ART   OP  8H0PPIN0     OR 
ttUoPPINO   MADE   EA8r,        -  -  .      ''""'^"'**''    *^« 

CHA.PTER  III. 

FINANCIAL   DIPLOMACY   AND  A    FRENCH    LESSON,  .  . 

CHAPTER  IV. 

BHEINFELDT    UOUSE-TASTE   BUT  NOT   FASHION,  .  . 

CHAPTER  V. 

A  FASHrON..rtLE    WEDDINO,  WITH    OTHER    MATTERS  THERFTO 
APPERTAINING,  -  .  .  '*»*''«»  JrUERfcTO 

CHAPTER  VI. 

MORNI.NO   CALI^   AT   RHEINFELDT    HOUSE, 

CHAPTER  VII. 

A   SERENADE   AND   SOME    NEW   ACQUAINTAXCKS,  .  . 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

N   KPOOU    IN   THE    GALLAGHER   ANNALS,    ... 

CHAPTER  IX, 

k   MORNING   AT   RHEINFELDT   HOISE 

CHAPTER  X. 

THE    CAR    OP     TKIUSinL    TWO     NICE     YOUVO    MEV      Avn     i 
BOUGH    CUSTOMKR.  .  .  ^^'    ^^^    ^ 


PAQI 
9 


81 

63 
73 

93 
112 
181 
150 
170 

100 


t    ! 


\  I 


fi  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XI.  PAOE 

HAKP-STKIKCW    AND     'JKAKT-STIMNUS,  ...  -  209 

ClIArTER  XII. 

ADTKILSITY    IS    NOT    ALWAYS   MISKOinXNE,  ...  228 

CIIAPTEU  XIII. 

ABOUT   NOTUINO — AND  A   FAMILY   POllTUAIT,        •  -  •  24 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

AN   ASTOUNDING     DISCOVEKY — AND   A    WKUDIXO,  •      .  267 

CHAPTER  XV. 

THINGS   IN    GKNERAL   AM)  SOMKIIIING    IN    PAUTICULAB,         -  288 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  WEDDING — GOING  TO  SAltATOGA,  AND   WHAT  S  IN  A  NAME,  308 

CHAPTER   XVII. 

MCLATING   CHIEFLY   TO   THE    I'A.ST,      .....  328 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
THE    DUUId's  CHAIR, -  349 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

DECIDEDLY  HYMENEAL,   ..-----     368 

CHAPTER  XX. 

LIGHT    ON    THE    PICTURE, 386 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

THE     GALLAGHERS    UNDER    A    CLOUD,  ....  408 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

1  XPLANATORY    AND  SATISKACIOUY,    .....  42T 

CHAPTER  XXHI. 

MATTERS   IN    GENEIUI,       ...  -  .  .  448 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BUOn    AND    SWEET, -  4G8 

CONCLVRION,  .  «  .  -  •  •  47< 


I  i 


OLD    AND    NEW; 

OR, 

TASTE     VERSUS    FASHION, 


CHAPTER  I. 

MATTERS    APPERTAINING   TO   THE    WORLD   OF    FASHION. 

About  forty  years  ago  there  stood  in  one  of  the 
**up-town''  streets  crossing  the  avenues,  and  but 
a  lew  doors  from  one  of  them,  a  two-story  brick 
house,  which,  in  a  less  pretentious  neighborhood, 
would  have  passed  for  a  tolerably  decent  dwelling, 
which  rank  it  once  indubitably  held.  Unluckily  for 
the  peace  and  contentment  of  its  occupants,  two 
brown-stone  houses,  one  of  three,  and  the  other  of  no 
less  than  four  stories,  had  provokingly  reared  them- 
selves on  either  side,  throwing  our  humble  "  two-story 
brick"  altogether  into  the  shade.  Had  they  been 
plain  houses  the  matter  had  not  been  quite  so  bad, 
but  their  respective  owners  were  not  men  to  put  up 
plain  houses;  one  of  them  was  a  butcher,  and  the 
other  a  baker  in  the  vicinity,  who  having  catered 
for  the  creature-comforts  of  the  public  to  some  par* 


f( 


.0 


OLD    AND    SK\^   ;    OR, 


pose,  found  themselves  in  possession  of  bank-booki 
representing  a  good  round  sum  in  hard  specie. 
The  money  was  vested  in  two  of  the  ohlest  and 
safest  banks  in  the  city,  the  butcher's  book  aforesaid 
bearing  on  its  cover  the  responsible  name  of  the 
C/ic/;iim/,  whilst  the  baker's  displayed  theequally  well- 
accredited  name  of  the  Mechanics^  Bunk.  This  was 
very  well  and  very  safe,  and  all  that,  but  all  at  once 
he  of  the  CheynicaJ  took  it  into  his  head  that  a  bank- 
book wasn't  much  to  look  at,  after  all,  and  so  he 
began  to  open  his  ear  to  the  persuasive  accents  of 
his  wife  and  daughters  who  had  been  long  urging 
him  to  build  a  house  for  them.  He  had  held  out 
manfully  for  a  year  or  two  after  the  last  of  his  six 
daughters  came  home  from  boarding-school  freighted 
with  the  usual  load  of  "  accomplishments,"  but  at 
last  the  seven  "  feminines"  came  down  on  him  with 
the  parallel  case  (fished  from  the  items  of  a  daily 
paper)  of  '*  some  old  fogy  somewhere  or  another 
that  had  a  whole  mint  of  money  framed  up  in  his 
parlor  in  a  bank-bill."  The  butcher  had  never  read 
of  the  amiable  patriarch  of  English  literati,*  who,  in 
our  own  day,  so  far  broke  the  charm  that  makes 
poverty  and  literary  pursuits  all  but  synonymous, 
but  there  was  no  getting  over  the  triumphant  argu- 
ment adduced  by  the  "  Seven  Champions  :"  "  What 
earthly  use  was  that  bill  to  that  old  fellow,  and 

♦  The  late  Samuel  Rogers,  who,  as  is  well-known,  had  a  mii- 
lion-pound-note  of  the  Bank  of  England  framed  (I  believe)  io 
bis  drawing-room.  .      .  .  >   .    • 


TASTK    VFRSrs    TASHTOV. 


11 


wasn't  it  just  the  same  with  his  little  hook  f 
Wouldn't  it  he  hetter  for  him  to  have  the  money  in 
the  walls  of  a  nice  house  that  would  he  a  credit  to 
himself  and  his  family  after  him  ?"  The  hutchef 
gave  in,  the  Chfitnicnl  had  its  deposits  lessened  hy 
twenty  thousand  dollars,  but  the  house  went  up  in 
a  style  of  splendor  befitting  the  ambitious  preten- 
sions of  the  famil"  to  whose  '•  cre<lit"  it  was  to 
redound  in  p^rpetuo.  The  progress  of  this  new 
neighbor,  destined  to  rejoice  in  the  round  number 
of  OG — was  watched  with  awful  interest  bv  the 
inmates  of  the  two-story  brick,  68  by  number,  and 
as  pediment,  and  architrave,  and  balcony  arose,  tier 
after  tier,  decked  with  all  the  elaboration  of  the 
stone-cutter's  craft,  the  female  occupants  of  68, 
three  in  number,  keeping  watch  in  their  turn  from 
behind  their  carefully-closed  jalousies,  noted  with 
doleful  discontent  the  growing  splendors  of  the 
mansion.  "  It  was  really  too  bad,"  the  young  ladies 
said — they  were  three  motherless  sisters — "  too  bad 
that  no  spot  in  the  city  would  serve  those  up-setting 
Gallaghers  to  put  up  their  castle  on  but  that  vacant 
lot  next  to  them.  Wasn't  it  well  come  up  with  Tom 
Gallagher  and  his  daughters  when  nothing  less  than 
that  would  do  them  ?  It's  a  wonder  they  wouldn't 
be  ashamed."  So  said  the  three  Miss  Hacketts,  and 
they  said  it  in  one  way  or  another  "from  morn  till 
dewy  eve,"  but  especially  and  most  emphatically 
when  any  acquaintance  dropped  in.  What  made 
the  matter  ^forse  was  that  the  six  Miss  Gallaghere 


I  I 


i  i 


t' 


11 


19 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


and    the   three    Miss   HackeVto    had    btcn    all    at 
Fchool    together    in    various    combinations    corre- 
sponding  to   the    respective   ages    of    the   young 
ladies,     The  rivalry  which,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
commenced  in  school  v  ith  regard  to  dress,  pocket- 
money,   and   other   appurtenances,  had   been   per- 
sistently and  spiritedly  maintained  on  either  side 
since     the     ever-memorable    day   when    the    two 
junior  Miss  Gallaghers  and  Miss  Mary  Clementina 
Hackett  had  graduated  with  equal  honor  and  distin- 
guished success  at  a  first-class  and  very  fashionable 
boarding-school.     Although  the  Hacketts  were  far 
behind  the-  Gallaghers  in  point  of  wealth,  the  differ- 
ence was  not  so  perceptible,  and,  therefore,  not  at 
all  so  sensibly  felt  so  long  as  the  worthy  butcher 
thought  fit  to  tenant  his  family  in  the  upper  stories 
of  a  house  near  the  market  where  he  carried  on  his 
lucrative  business,  but  when  the  new  house  came  to 
be  put  up,  and  such  a  house !  at  their  own  very  door 
—of  course,  that  was  more  than  flesh  and   blood 
could  bear,  and  the  three  Miss  Hacketts  bei?tg  flesh 
and  blood  did  not  ^ear  it — at  least  with  anything 
like  equanimity.     If  their  father  had  been  in  circum- 
stances to  put  up  just  such  another  house,  or  one  a 
sh£de  better,  then,  indeed,  the  Gallaghers  might  put 
up  a  palace  if  they  pleased,  but  unfortunately  the 
head  of  the  ITackett  family  was  a  man  on  whom  the 
blind  goddess  had  never  deigned  to  smile.     The 
three  good-looking  sisters  who  called  him  father, 
and  one  pale,  delicate  boy,  the  youngest  of  all,  con- 


ii 


-ji 


I  f 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


IS 


all    at 
corre- 
young 
course, 
pocket- 
L»n   per- 
er  side 
\e    two 
[Tientina 
1  distin- 
lionable 
,^ere  far 
e  differ- 
,  not  at 
butcher 
I  stories 
I  on  his 
?ame  to 
(rydoor 
blood 
^g  flesh 
ything 
ircum- 
r  one  a 
ht  put 
lely  the 
m  the 
Th« 
father, 
1,  con* 


itituted  the  bulk  of  his  worldly  wealth.  At  least 
the  couple  of  thousand  dollars  which  he  had  been 
able  to  save  out  of  a  small  grocery  was  not  much  to 
reckon  on,  et'pecially  as,  with  all  the  good  man's 
care  and  economy,  it  did  not  seem  to  increase  of 
late  years.  He  had  managed  by  the  help  of 
thrifty,  industrious  wifo  to  give  what  they  called  a 
good  education  to  their  d'  ighters,  foreseeing  that 
he  would  have  little  elsvi  to  leave  them.  Many 
sacrifices  did  the  gor  '  parents  lake  in  order  to 
spare  from  their  small  business  the  very  consider- 
able sum  annualiy  expenued  on  the  girls'  '*  school- 
ing,"  and  the  hard  toll  to  v.'hicb  the  fond  proud 
mother  devoted  herself  year  after  ytiar  to  gave  the 
expense  of  keeping  a  servant  st)on  wore  out  a 
naturally  delicate  constitution.  The  eldest  daugh- 
ter was  but  a  few  months  home  from  school  after 
"  finishing"  when  she  lost  her  good,  but  too  indul- 
gent mother.  Things  never  went  so  well  after  that, 
and  poor  Henry  Hackett,  after  a  couple  of  years' 
experience,  gave  up  with  a  sigh  the  hope  of  adding 
to  the  sum  that  had  been  standing  opposite  hia 
name  for  some  time  past  in  the  Savings  Bank  of 
his  own  ward.  He  and  his  son  Michael  attended 
the  store,  but  the  Miss  Hacketts  did  9wt  attend  the 
house — small  as  it  was,  they  had  to  keep  a  servant, 
for,  of  course,  it  was  a  thing  altogether  out  of  the 
question  for  youi:g  ladies  who  could  play  the  piano, 
and  read  French  (at  least  they  said  so),  and  painty 
ob!  fiich  nice  flowers,  and  work  most  beautifully  in 


I 

; 


i  i 


\ , 


ill 

ft) 


I 


14 


•  OIJ)   AND   NEW  ;   OB, 


Berlin  \^  ool,  to  undertake  the  work  of  a  house,  and 
turn  their  attention  to  such  vulgar  practices  as  the 
making  of  beds,  cooking  of  victuals,  knitting   or 
darning  stockings,  or  any  of  those  tiresome  minu- 
tiae which  belong  to  the  hon^okeeping  of  a  family  in 
traitened  circumstances.    It  was  quite  a  great  deal 
for  such  accomplished  young  ladies  to  do  what  they 
chose  to  call  "  a  part  of  the  sewing,"  which  part 
mainly  consisted  of  the  hemming  of  pocket-hand 
kerchiefs,     making    crochet     collars,     embroidering 
aprons   and   other   such  "  fancy  jobs,"  whilst   the 
plain  sewing  (as  it  is  technically  called  by  house- 
keepers), the  underclothes,  and  all   that  excluded 
taste  and  fancy,  and  required  patience  and  perse- 
verance, being  simultaneously  voted  "  a  bore,"  was 
handed    over  to  a  seamstress   taken   in  at   stated 
times.     It  was  no  use  for  Henry  Hackett  to  scold 
or  complain — the  three  sisters  were  all  of  one  mind 
and  all  arrayed  against  him  in  formidable  volubility 
of  tongue.     One  had   to  practice — she  was  really 
forgetting  her  music;    another  had  to  finish  that 
piece  she  was  painting  for  "  the  fair ;"   the  other 
had  some  wax  fruit  in  hands,  and  declared  solemnly 
she  wouldn't  do  a  thing — not  a  thing,  till  that  wa 
finished ;  for,  of  course,  it  must  be  ready  for  Ne\» 
Year's — or  where  was  the  use  bother?ng  with  it? 
The  father,  though  a  sensible  and  rather  intelligent 
man,  was  somewhat  too  easy,  and  often  gave  up  a 
point   against   his  own   honest   convictions   rather 
.ihap  take  the  trouble  of  arguing  the  que&tion^east 


MM 


'li' 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHIOK. 


16 


use,  and 

38  as  the 

tting   or 

le  minu- 

■_:\ 

family  in 

•eat  deal 

hat  they 

.4 

ich  ^;ari 

let-hand 

•oidering 

liilst   the 

-; 

)y  house- 

excluded 

id  perse- 

> 

yre,"  was 

it   stated 

'il; 

to  scold 

't 

)ne  mind 

"'■'•: 

olubility 

as  really 

lish  that 

le  other 

solemnly 

■t* 

that  wa 

.\> 

for  NeA» 

i 

with  it? 

■•jf 

telligent 

ave  up  a 

-'; 

»   rather 

n-r-least 

of  all  with  his  daughters.  There  was  a  half  smiU 
on  his  calm  features  as  he  listened  to  the  eager 
chorus  of  excuse : 

"  You  mean,"  said  he,  but  there  he  stopped  :  he 
was  going  to  say  "  you  mean  you're  all  too  busy 
watchinor  Tom  Gallasrher's  new  house  to  find  time 
for  anything  else."  He  didn't  say  it,  though,  know- 
ing by  dear-bought  experience  that  to  raise  a  storm 
was  easier  than  to  quell  it. 

From  what  we  have  said,  it  is  plain  enough  that 
the  Miss  Hacketts  had  no  hope  of  ever  seeing  theii 
humble  "  two-story  brick"  expanding,  or  being  trans- 
formed  into  a  three-story  brown  either  plain  or  orna- 
mental— if  they  had,  the  barbed  shaft  of  envy  would 
not  have  penetrated  their  hearts  so  deeply,  but,  as 
it  was,  they  could  only  blame  their  hard  fortune — 
and  "  them  upsetting  things,  the  Gallaghers."  The 
only  real  consolation  they  had  in  their  affliction  was 
that  their  neighbor  on  the  other  side,  No.  70,  was  a 
wooden  building  no  higher  than  their  own,  and  in 
much  worse  condition,  the  lower  part  being  occupied 
as  a  carpenter's  shop,  while  the  carpenter's  family 
lived  up  stairs.  Even  this  slender  ray  of  comfort 
was  soon  clouded :  a  small  square  board  covered 
with  white  paper  was  one  morning  hung  over  the 
door,  and  on  it,  in  frightfully  large  letters,  the  ominous 
words  For  Sale — this  property  for  sale. 

This  new  source  of  anxiety  in  some  measure 
diverted  the  young  ladies*  attention  from  the  other 
■ide,  and  they  lived  for  soii\e  "keek's"  in  a  state  of 


4 


I  t     ,1 


16 


OLD   ANT)   NEW  ;   OR, 


It 

I 


f  I' 


f 
I 

Si! 

1)1 


111,! 


1 

! 


I.!- 


I! 

! 
1 


»^| 


I  i 


I 


harrowiDg  suspense,  alternating  between  fear  and 
ho^pe— fear  that  some  aspiring  individual  from 
"  down-town"  or  elsewhere  might  take  it  in  head  to 
put  up  another  fashionable  residence  on  No.  70— 
hope  that  the  poor  old  tenement  might  be  left  as  it 
was  and  used  as  a  place  of  business.  Alas  !  the 
hope  was  soon  dispelled,  and  the  fear  became  a 
dread  and  awful  certainty.  The  old  house  was 
pulled  down,  and  from  the  magnitude  of  the  pre- 
parations immediately  set  on  foot  it  was  clear  that 
the  new  proprietor  was  going  to  make  No.  70  outdo 
No.  66.  What,  then,  was  to  become  of  the  Hacketts 
in  their  unluoky  "  two-story  brick,"  right  between 
two  palatial  mansions  of  brown  stone  ?  It  is  beyond 
our  poor  ability  to  describe  the  sensations  with 
which  the  sisters  three  watched  the  progress  of  No. 
70,  keeping  an  eye  at  the  same  time  on  the  gorgeous 
"  finishing"  of  66,  as  indicated  by  the  protracted 
labors  of  stucco-men,  painters,  gilders,  glass-stainers 
and  upholsterers.  To  crown  all  they  found  that 
the  new  owner  of  No.  70  was  their  own  baker,  Mr. 
William  H.  Fogarty,  whose  only  daughter  Julia 
had  also  been  their  school-companion  ! 

What  made  the  young  ladies'  affliction  still  more 
pitiable  was  that  they  were  forced  to  compress  it 
within  the  limits  of  their  own  fair  bosoms.  They  well 
knew  how  little  sympathy  they  had  to  expect  from 
their  father,  or  rather  their  "  pa,"  who  was  certainly 
'*  the  queerest  man  living,  and  had  no  more  spirit 
thaD  a  cfoal-heftver"— 80  they  said  :-«e  for  their  bro 


TASTE    VERSUS    TASHION. 


n 


kinei'8 
that 
Mr. 

Julia 


spirit 
bro- 


ther Michael  he  would  only  laugh  at  their  distress 
they  knew  thai  well,  too,  for  Michael,  notwithstand 
ing  his  pale,  melancholy  visage,  had  quite  a  fund  of  dry 
humor  in  his  composition,  and  generally  contrived 
to  give  a  ridiculous  turn  to  the  things  that  most 
interested  his  sisters.  Sometimes  he  affected  to 
condole  with  them  in  their  tribulation  of  spirit,  but 
it  was  only  to  draw  them  out  and  furnish  matter 
for  his  own  private  amusement.  A  quaint,  preco- 
cious little  fellow  Michael  was,  undoubtedly,  and  to 
do  him  justice,  he  had  more  brains  in  his  head  than 
his  three  sisters  put  together.  The  share  of  good 
seflse  that  belonged  to  the  family  was  about  equally 
divided  between  the  father  and  son,  the  trifling  ad- 
vantage which  the  latter  might  possibly  have,  being 
counterbalanced  by  the  former's  fifty  odd  years  of 
additional  experience.  Michael's  talents,  such  as 
they  were,  had  received  comparatively  little  aid 
from  education  ;  the  poor  lad  was  taken  from  school 
at  fourteen,  when  his  mother  died,  and  his  services 
were  found  so  indispensable  in  the  store  that  his 
father  felt  himself  under  the  necessity  of  keeping 
him  there,  the  more  so  as  he  himself  was  often 
absent  for  hours  at  a  time  attending  auction  sales 
"  down  town."  It  was  not  without  regret  that 
Henry  Hackett  thus  sacrificed  his  son's  opportuni- 
ties of  acquiring  that  knowledge  which,  after  all,  ii 
power,  and  he  reproached  himself — very  unjustly, 
however,  with  "  making  the  boy  a  j^lave  to  them 
good-for-nothing  girls  of  his,  and  keeping  him  from 


18 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


I.,. 


getting  the  learning  that  might  make  a  man  of  him 
because  he  had  the  head  to  keep  it,  if  he  got  it,  and 
the  sense  to  make  good  use  of  it,  not  all  as  one  ! 

The  last  words  somehow  had  the  effect  of  putting 
the  sisters  into  that  portentous  state,  commonly 
called  "  high  dudgeon,"  elevating  their  noses  to  a 
perfect "  snub,"  and  bringing  their  "  brent  brows"  into 
most  unseemly  proximity.  If  there  was  any  one 
domestic  topic  that  grated  on  the  sensitive  ears  of 
the  Miss  Hacketts  more  than  another,  it  was  the 
enumeration  of  Michael's  good  qualities  on  the  part 
of  their  respected  parent,  and  the  Jeremiad  thereto 
appended  concerning  the  undue  share  of  labor  and 
application  that  necessarily  devolved  on  him,  partly 
as  a  consequence  of  other  people's  gadding  propen- 
sities and  general  dislike  of  anything  approaching  to 
industry.  The  girls  f(r)und  three  caps  in  this  brief 
homily  that  fitted  themselves  to  a  hair,  and  they 
were  not  slow  in  appropriating  them ;  whereupon 
the  waters  of  domestic  peace  were  grievously 
troubled  until  some  concession  from  the  father,  or, 
just  as  often,  the  assumption  of  a  little  salutary 
severity,  restored  a  temporary  calm.  So  much  for 
domestic  affairs,  but  the  foreign  were,  after  all,  what 
most  disturbed  the  Hackett  family  and  inflicted  the 
deepest  wound  on  their  heart  of  hearts.  Everything 
that  was  from  within  could  and  might  be  tolerated  ; 
"  pa's  stinginess'^  and  "  Michael's  odd  ways"  (in- 
cluding, of  course,  his  provoking  industry),  inas- 
much as  they  couldn't  be  got  over,  had  to  be  put 


all! 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHlftK. 


19 


ap  with,  but  to  think  of  the  Gallaghers  and  the 
Fogartys  building  such  splendid  houses  right  on 
each  side  of  them;  and  what  harm  if  they — the 
Miss  Hacketts,  that  is — had  only  a  decent  house — 
if  they  had,  they  wouldn't  care  "  a  snap" — as  they 
elegantly  phrased  it — but  such  ^n  old  rookery  of  a 
place,  old  faded  bricks,  and  common  white  shutters  ! 
and  only  two  stones  high ! — why,  really,  the  house 
wasn't  fit  to  be  seen — it  was  a  show  to  the  world — 
and,  they  didn't  care,  if  pa  had  only  the  least  little 
mite  of  spirit  he  wouldn't  have  his  daughters  in  such 
a  mean  place. 

"  And  us  finished  and  home  from  school !"  sug- 
gested Ann  Wilhelmina,  the  second. 

"Just  so,"  chimed  in  Mary  Clementina,  the  young- 
est, while  Sarah  Eugenia,  the  eldest,  added  again  by 
way  of  capping  the  climax  : 

"  And  us  keeping  but  one  girl,  and  there  they'll 
be  having  two  or  three,  or  perhaps  four." 

"  And  all  the  fashionable  ladies  and  gents  that'll 
be  coming  to  visit  them  in  those  grand  houses,  and 
us  hasn't  a  soul  to  come  in  or  out  that  there's  the 
least  bit  of  style  about.  Oh  dear !  a'nt  it  shocking ! 
what  shall  we  do  ?'* 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Ann  Wilhelmina  low- 
erinrj  her  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper,  "  pa*8 
real  mean,  after  all,  or  he'd  get  some  improvements 
made  on  this  old  shanty — it  wouldn't  cost  him  n\uch 
to  do  tluit .'" 

"I  guess  not,"  responded  the  eldest  sister,  "  but 


^ 


mmt 


m 


<  i 


'  I 


■  \ 


ill 


Ill 

li 


% 


!•  j' 


,>  I 


M 


'H! 


SO 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


then  it  a*nt  any  use  to  ask  him,  you  know;  he'd 
only  get  mad  and  tell  us  to  hold  our  tongue  and 
put  such  notions  out  of  our  head  !  Oh  dear  !  what 
a  misfortune  it  is  to  have  such  an  old  grub  of  a 
father  1" 

Having  delivered  themselves  of  this  dutiful  senti- 
ment, the  sisters  heaved  a  simultaneous  sigh  and 
went  their  ways,  Sarah  Eugenia  to  tell  Nora,  their 
maid-of-all-work,  to  "  get  the  tea,"  Ann  Wilhelmina 
to  finish  James'  last  novel  (poor  G.  P.  R.  was  then 
in  the  zenith  of  his  fame,  or  a  little  beyond  it),  whilst 
Mary  Clementina  with  a  languid  yawn  took  up  her 
frame  with  the  heroic  purpose  of  trying  to  finish 
•*  that  nasty  leaf"  of  which  she  was  so  heartily  tired, 
and  little  wonder,  seeing  that  she  had  been  at  it  off 
and  on  for  the  last  three  days  consecutively. 

It  may  be  well  to  observe  eri  passant — lest  the 
reader  should  give  Henry  Hackett  and  his  son  credit 
for  more  patience  than  fell  to  their  lot — U.j.t  the  im- 
posing cognomens  by  which  the  girls  chose  to  ad- 
dress each  other  were  considerably  abridged  in  the 
mouths  of  their  male  relatives.  The  fact  was  that 
the  second  names  borne  by  each  of  the  young  ladies 
were  not  baptismal  nor  yet  confirmation  names,  be 
ing  simply  what  is  called  fancy-names,  dating  from 
an  early  stage  of  their  boarding  school  days.  With 
**  pa"  and  Michael,  the  girls  were  still — to  their  un- 
speakable annoyance — the  Sally,  Ann  and  Mary  of 
their  first  years ;  and,  still  more  shocking  to  relate 
there  were  times  when  their  father  actually  forgot 


TASTK   VERSUS    FA8HI0W. 


21 


r;  he'd 
;ue  and 
!  what 
lb  of  a 

1  senti- 
gh  and 
a,  their 
lelmina 
18  then 
,  whilst 
up  her 
0  finish 
y  tired, 
It  it  off 

lest  the 
credit 
im- 
to  ad- 
in  the 
IS  that 
ladies 
es,  be 
from 
With 
ir  un- 
ary of 
relate 
forgot 


the 


hirriself  so  far  as  to  hail  them  with  the  odious  patro- 
nymics of  Sal,  Nancy,  or  Moll — that,  too,  before 
company.     If  he  would  only 

"  Behave  himsel'  before  folk" 

they  might  have  forgiven  him,  but  to  expose  his 
vulgarity  in  such  a  way  when  strangers  were  present, 
and  give  them  such  nasty  low  names — that  they 
could  not,  and  would  not  get  over — for  what  could 
folks  think  of  the  whole  connection  hearing  the 
head  of  the  house  talk  in  that  fashion  ?  Sometimes 
Michael  affected  to  sympathize  with  them,  and  even 
went  so  far  as  to  remonstrate  with  his  father  on  his 
total  disregard  of  the  young  ladies*  feelings.  Certain 
looks  and  gestures  were  exchanged  between  the  two, 
and  both  promised  amendment.  Unluckily,  the  ag- 
grieved parties  were  not  long  in  finding  out  that  the 
amendment  was  no  amendment  at  all,  and  that,  in 
fact,  the  cure  was  worse  than  the  disease.  The  very 
first  time  that  company  came  in  of  an  evening — and 
as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  who  should  the  visitors  be 
but  their  new  neighbors  the  Fogartys,  father,  mother 
and  daughter  — what  was  the  consternation  of  the 
trio  to  hear  themselves  addressed  by  their  father  and 
brother  U8  often  as  they  had  occasion  to  speak  to 
them  as  "  Miss  Sarah  Eugenia,"  "  Miss  Ann  Wil-hel* 
mi-na"  and  "  Miss  Mary  Cle-men-ti-na !"  Every  syl* 
labie  and  every  letter  being  brought  out  with  the 
full  round  articulation  of  the  soft  Munster  accent. 
Had  the  Fogartys  boeu  less  kind  aad  cfouBid^^raU 


S3 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OB, 


II  '1 


i|   ! 


than  they  really  were  the  Hackett  sisters  would 
have  suft'ered  excruciating  torture  during  the  even- 
ing— as  it  was  they  "  felt  like  sinking  through  tho 
ground"  as  often  as  they  heard  the  ominous  length 
of  name  repeated — which  happened  they  thought 
unusually  often,  too — they  didn't  make  the  descent, 
however,  to  which  they  felt  inclined,  but  remained 
above  ground  to  endure,  though  it  must  be  owned 
with  a  very  ill  grace,  the  punishment  of  their  own 
folly. 

The  Fogartys  were  at  first  disposed  to  laugh 
heartily  at  what  they  naturally  supposed  this  new 
whim  of  Henry  Hackett's,  but  when  that  worthy 
man  apprised  them  by  a  knowing  wink,  accompanied 
by  an  expressive  gesture,  of  the  corrective  object  of 
the  ludicrously-long  names,  they  made  an  eflbrt  to 
maintain  their  gravity,  and  succeeded  so  well  that 
one  would  think  they  heard  nothing  strange  going 
on.  The  confusion  of  the  three  sisters  was  truly 
pitiable  under  the  first  half-hour's  infliction,  but 
after  that,  finding  that  their  really  good-natured 
visitors  either  took,  or  appeared  to  take,  no  notice 
of  the  parental  vagary,  they  gradually  recovered 
something  like  their  usual  confidence,  and  played 
and  sang  to  their  own  unbounded  satisfaction,  and, 
indeed,  to  the  great  admiration  of  their  father  and 
brother,  who  were  reasonably  proud  of  their  accom- 
plishments. 

The  Fogartys  had  not  yet  moved  into  their  new 
house  at  which,  they  said,  tllere  was  a  good  three 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOX. 


23 


jrs  would 
the  even- 
rough  the 
>U8  length 
f  thought 
e  descent, 
remained 
be  owned 
their  own 

to   laugh 

this  new 

at  worthy 

lompanied 

!  object  of 

eftbrt  to 

well  that 

ige  going 

was  truly 

Jtion,  but 

d-natured 

no  notice 

ecovered 

d  played 

ion,  and, 

ther  and 

r  accoin* 

heir  new 
od  three 


months'  work  yet  before  they  could  begin  to 
furnish  it. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Henry/'  said  William  H.,  a 
sharp,  thin-faced  man,  with  a  suspiciously-black  and 
curled  head  of  hair,  by  no  means  in  keeping  with 
the  fifty-five  or  perhaps  sixty  years  indicated  by  the 
deep  lines  of  his  somewhat  peculiar  countenance, 
"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  it's  no  joke  to  put  up  a 
house  like  that  in  New  York  City.*' 

"  And  then  the  furnishing  of  it  after  that  again," 
said  Hackett;  "you  must  have  done  a  first-rate 
business  to  put  so  much  money  together — and  you're 
a  young  man  yet,  Mr.  Fogarty  !" 

"Not  so  young  as  you'd  think,"  put  in  Mrs. 
Fogarty  rather  quickly ;  "  there's  some  people  bears 
their  age  so  well  that  you  can  scarce  tell  when  age 
is  on  them—  but  you  may  take  my  word  for  it,  Billy 
Fogarty  is  no  chicken.'* 

"  Chicken  or  no  chicken,  ma'am,  he's  no  goo^t 
anyhow,"  said  Hackett  with  sly  meaning,  "  if  ho 
was  he  wouldn't  be  the  man  he  is  to-day !" 

"  To-night,  father,"  suggested  Michael. 

"  Well !  night  or  day,  it's  all  one  in  regard  to 
what  I*m  saying,  Michael !  Nobody  can  deny  but 
Mr.  Fogarty  was  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in  his 
mouth." 

"  Much  about  his  silver  spoon,"  said  his  wife  again, 
•<  if  it  wasn't  for  the  good  help  he  had,  I'd  like  to 
see  how  far  his  silver  spoon  would  carry  him !" 

'*  God  knows  you  eay  the  truth,  Ellen,**  said 


I 


•Ml 


i 

ill 

1.1 


i 


K  'ill 


I  ! 


Ill 


lil!|i 


I'l 


ill 

It;!} 
I 


in! 


li'it 

m 


^ ': 


24 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


Fogarty  turning  a  softened  lock  on  his  wife,  "  I  had 
the  best  of  help,  and  that's  a  fact.  I  made  the 
money,  it's  true,  but  I  know  who  kept  it  together 
when  it  was  made."  "  Well !  Billy,  my  dear,  we 
both  did  our  phare,"  said  the  wife  complacently, 
"  and  God  has  prospered  our  little  endeavors.  But 
you  must  know,  Mr.  Hackett,  I  didn't  give  Fogarty 
the  first  start — he  had  a  nice  penny  by  him  when 
w^e  came  together." 

"  Dear  me  !*'  said  Miss  Sarah  Eugenia  Hackett 
7ery  innocently,  "  I  shouldn't  have  thought  it  ?" 

Her  sisters  tittered  in  evident  appreciation  of  the 
•oke,  Julia  Fogarty  looked  grave,  her  father  pulled 
up  his  shirt-collar  with  an  air,  but  the  good  woman 
herself  answered  with  perfect  composure  and  in 
perfect  good  faith : 

"I  declare  I  often  wonder  how  he  did  come  to 
marry  me,  for  I  had  scarce  a  decent  dress  to  my 
back,  let  alone  money,  and,  to  be  sure,  it  wasn't  for 
my  beauty " 

All  the  youngsters  laughed  out  at  this,  for  Mrs. 
Fogarty  was — "  blessed  be  the  Maker !"  as  her 
neighbors  used  to  say — "  as  homely  a  woman  as 
you'd  see  in  a  congregation."  Even  her  own 
daughter  enjoyed  the  joke,  the  more  so,  as  her 
mother  was  quite  in  earnest  in  her  good-natured 
observation,  and  was,  moreover,  very  much  in  the 
habit  of  repeating  the  same  thing,  whether  from 
bumility,  or  a  seicr^t  oonsoionfiness  that  if  she  k^i 


TASTE   VBRSFfl    FASHION. 


25 


no  sightliness  to  boast  of  she  had  other  qualities 
more  valuable  if  less  attractive. 

"  Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Fogarty !"  began  Henrj 
Ilackett  with  the  puzzled  look  of  one  who  was  cast- 
ing about  in  his  own  mind  for  something  to  say 


(( 


Nonsense,  man,  don't  mind  her,"  said  William  H., 
cutting  him  short — "she's  only  fishing  for  a  compli- 
ment. She  wants  some  of  us  to  say  that  *  beauty  is 
but  skin  deep,'  and  *  doesn't  make  the  pot  boil 
brown  !' — as  you  often  say  yourself,  Ellen,  honey, 
*  pretty  is  that  pretty  does,'  and,  judging  by  that 
rule,  I've  as  pretty  a  wife  as  any  going.  Haven't  I, 
Ellen  ?  What  are  you  laughing  at,  girls,  there  behind 
backs  ?" 

"  Look  in  the  glass  and  you'll  see  !"  said  his  wife 
a  little  maliciously — in  her  heart  she  was  not  so 
thoroughly  convinced  of  her  own  deficiencies  on  the 
score  of  good  looks,  but  that  she  could  swallow  a 
little  compliment,  if  any  one  stretched  politeness  so 
far  as  to  offer  it — and  she  did  not  much  relish  her 
husband's  over-ready  admissions  in  regard  to  her 
appearance. 

The  hasty  glance  that  William  H.  threw,  in  con- 
sequence, on  the  small  mahogany-framed  mirror 
opposite  which  he  sat  was  more  than  sufficient  to 
bring  the  hot  blood  to  his  somewhat  sallow  visage. 
Reflected  on  the  dark  surface  of  the  glass  was  him- 
self in  the  foreground,  with  his  rather  dandified  wig 
Bet  in  such  comical  fashion  on  his  head,  that  nearly 
one-half  of  the  cmnium  was  exposed,  bearing  a  shorn 


m 


'!li;  :i 


:  i^ 


I  ■■■•I 


16  OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 

crop  ot  silver-gray  stubble  that  contrasted  as  oddlj 
as  could  be  with  the  dark  luxuriance  (as  the  novel- 
ists would  say)  of  the  other  section  of  the  sphere. 
The  background  of  the  picture  was  occupied  by  four 
saucy,  grinning  faces,  of  which  his  own  daughter's 
was  the  most  provokingly  mischievous.  Arranging 
the  disordered  chevelure  with  the  greatest  dispatch 
possible,  Mr.  Fogarty  turned  angrily  to  his  daugh- 
ter, whose  look  became  suddenly  quite  demure  • 

"  I  say,  Julia !  was  that  your  work  ?" 

*'  My  work !  why,  pa !  how  can  you  think  so  ? 
La !  you  did  it  yourself  when  you  reached  your 
snuff-box  that  time  to  Mr.  Hackett — you  did, 
iudeed,  pa !" 

"  I  tell  you  I  didn't,"  said  the  father  still  more 
sharply.  "  I  know  you,  my  lady  !  you  and  your 
mother  are  always  plotting  mischief,  and  playing 
tricks  on  me—" 

"  My  goodness  gracious,  Billy  Fogarty  ! '  cried 
his  wife  bristling  up,  "  you  needn't  be  making  such 
a  time  about  your  wig  getting  crooked  on  you! — 
what  if  Julia  did  give  it  a  shove — sure  everybody 
knows  that  dandy  black  brush-top  isn't  your  owa 
Upon  my  credit !"  she  added  in  a  sort  of  parenthe- 
sis, "  it's  my  opinioi*  he  hadn't  a  black  hair  on  his 
poll  these  ten  years.  Why,  man !  you  needn't  look 
BO  black — depend  upon  it,  you'll  not  be  coming 
here,  or  anywhere  else,  for  a  second  wife,  if  /  can 
help  it  l—ha  !  ha !  ha  !" 

The  good  woman's  laugh  was  left  to  herself,  for 


TASTE    VERSUS    PASniON. 


WilUcOm  II.'s  vexation  was  too  real  an«l  too  evident 
for  the  others  to  keep  up  the  jnlce. 

"  How  much  did  that  hou.^e  of  yours  cost,  Mr. 
Fogarty  ?"  said  Huckett  abruptly,  with  a  view  to 
change  the  current  of  his  ideas. 

"  I'd  be  ahnost  ashamed  to  tell  you,  Henry,"  the 
baker  replied  with  a  sullen  glance  at  his  wife,  who 
was  still  chuckling  over  his  mishap.  "  It  was  these 
confounded  women  that  got  me  into  it — nothing 
would  serve  them,  but  they  must  have  a  fashionable 
house  near  the  avenue,  and  I  had  neither  peace  noi 
rest  till  I  bought  the  lot  and  went  to  work.  Th  : 
house  that  would  suit  me  didn't  suit  them,  and  they 
kept  at  me  ding-dong,  and  at  the  architect,  too,  till 
the  house  grew  to  a  size  that  I  never  intended,  and, 
with  all  the  jig-a-ma-rees  they  got  on  it,  cost  me 
the  most  of  what  ready  money  I  had  in  bank.  I 
don't  believe  IMl  have  enough  to  finish  it  without 
going  in  debt.  And  then  there's  the  furniture  to 
come  after — for,  of  course,"  he  added  jeeringly,  "  the 
furniture  we  had  in  our  snug  old  house  'vouldn't 
answer  at  all  for  our  grand  new  one." 

"  Well !  father,  how  you  talk !"  said  Julia,  red- 
dening to  the  eyes.  Her  mother  took  up  her  bon- 
net with  a  scornful  glance  at  her  husband,  and  a 
muttered  exclamation  about  some  people  having  thft 
buttermilk  in  them — the  which  in  the  peculiar  phra 
ecology  of  her  class  in  Ireland  means  anything  but 
a  oompliment. 


I;  ! 


■  (' 


ili 


\'' 


l!i!^ 


I't 


!! 


IHl 


mi 
I 


r 


li.!. 


.4 


i:;l:  '■'' 
i;,!'^ 


I  ■  I 

'  il 


1' 


!!l 


I ' 


!    II 


it     ' 

i 


'Hi 


litii  jl; 


S8 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


Henry  Hackett  hastened  to  repair  the  nuptia; 
bread),  as  he  well  knew  how  : 

"  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Fogarty  !*'  said  he,  very 
gravely,  "  I  think  the  mistress  and  Miss  Julia  were 
in  the  right — what  for  wouldn't  you  have  at  least  as 
good  a  house  as  Tom  Gallagher  ?  Everybody  knows 
who  has  the  deepest  purse,  and  the  best  credit  in 
the  bank,  for  all  Tom  does  boast  now  and  then  when 
the  glass  is  in,  that  he's  a  richer  man  than  you  are — 
though,  as  I  said,  every  one  knows  how  that  matter 
stands,  still  it's  v/ell  for  you  to  shut  his  mouth,  and 
that's  what  you  have  done  in  regard  to  putting  up 
such  a  house,  you  may  say  next  door  to  his." 

A  groan  from  one  or  all  of  the  Miss  Hacketts  was 
here  plainly  audible. 

"  You  really  think  mine  is  the  handsomest — eh, 
Harry  ?"  This  y^^2JS>  said  in  a  tone  of  such  tremulous 
anxiety  that  it  was  evident  the  speaker's  whole  heart 
was  in  the  question. 

"  Do  I  think  it  ?  I  dov^t  think  it,  but  I'm  sure  of 
it !  Hasn't  yours  them  stone  railings,  whatever 
they  call  them,  on  two  stories,  and  Tom's  only  on 
on«,  and  aren't  you  a  full  story  higher,  not  to  speak 
of  other  things  in  proportion  ?  I  believe  there  isn't 
a  house  in  the  block  like  yours,  putting  one  thing 
with  another." 

"  There  now !  didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?"  cried  the 
wife  triumphantly.  "  You'll  not  deny  but  Mr 
Hackett  is  a  good  judge,  and  a  wise  man  to  boot 


TASTE    VERSJS    PASHION. 


29 


le  nuptia; 

he,  very 
Julia  were 
at  least  as 
)dy  knows 
\  credit  in 
then  when 
you  are — 
lat  matter 
louth,  and 
utting  up 
is." 
sketts  was 

meat — eh, 
remulous 
lole  heart 

n  sure  of 
whatever 

only  on 
to  speak 
lere  isn't 

e  thing 

^ied  the 
)ut  Mr 
to  boot 


i: 


and  you  hear  what  he  says.     Of  course  what  !€«  say 
goes  for  nothing !" 

"  Never  mind,  Ellen  dear !"  said  the  mollified 
husband  with  more  than  restored  good  humor,  "  III 
let  you  and  Julia  choose  the  furniture  yourselves." 

"And  go  in  debt  for  it,  pa?"  asked  Julia  with  a 
meaning  glance  at  her  young  companions,  on  whose 
minds  she  wished  to  impress  the  fact  that  her  father 
was  not  in  earnest  when  ho  spoke  of  his  funds  being 
exhausted. 

'*  Debt  or  no  debt,"  was  the  answer,  "  the  house 
must  be  furnished  ia  good  style.  We  can't  have 
one  thing  making  a  fool  of  another,  and  we  may  as 
well  be  hanged  for  an  old  sheep  as  a  young  lamb. 
We^ll  let  Gallagher  see  who's  tlie  richest ^ 

"  You  must  come  and  see  us  often  when  we  get 
into  the  new  house,"  said  Mrs.  Fogarty  at  the  door 
witli  quite  an  air  of  condescension. 

**Now  do!"  repeated  Julia  coaxingly,  "  we  shall 
be  «;•  glad  to  see  you." 

The  Hackett  girls  promised,  but  the  moment  the 
ioor  was  closed  the  three  girls  laughed  out  in 
chorus,  "  Come  and  fie  us  often!"  said  Sarah  Eu- 
genia in  Mrs.  Fogarty's  very  tone.  "  What  a  notion 
we  have  of  it !  They  just  want  to  show  oif  their 
elegant  house  and  furniture  and  all  that,  as  if  we 
were   so   green  as  not  to  know  what  theyVe  up 


tol" 


"That's  so  like  Julial— a»nt  it?"  subjoined 


30 


OLD   AjfD   NEW  ;    OR, 


Mary  Clementina,  with  a  prodigious  yawn.     "  But 
really  I»m  so  tired  I  can't  keep  my  eyes  open." 

"  Pa"  and  Michael  had  already  betaken  them  to 
their  sleeping  apartment,  and  the  girls  were  not 
■low  to  follow. 


if  'I'll 

»      ■Ml) 


! 


!i"!i 


t 


I't' 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION 


31 


a.     "  Bui 

>en." 
them  to 
were  not 


CHAPTER  II. 

BKNG    A    CHAPTER   ON    THE    WHOLE    ART   OF    SiHOPPlNG,   OR 
SHOPPING    MADE    EASY. 

To  do  the  Gallaghers  justice  their  household  was 
conducted  on  more  rational  principles  than  either 
Fogarty's  or  Hackett's.  The  mother  was  a  sharp, 
shrewd,  active  little  woman,  with  a  fair  endowment 
of  that  valuable  quality  called  "  common  sense." 
She  was  not,  to  be  sure,  overstocked  with  book- 
learning  any  more  than  her  husband,  who,  having 
commenced  life  as  a  butcher's  boy,  was,  it  may  well 
i'8  believed,  a  little  behind  on  the  score  of  educa- 
tion. Tom  was  a  good-natured,  fat,  heavy-featured 
man,  remarkably  dull  in  comprehension,  so  much 
so,  indeed,  that  it  was  matter  of  astonishment  to  all 
his  acquaintances  how  he  ever  got  to  the  sunny 
side  of  this  dark  world — in  fact,  it  could  only  be 
accounted  for  by  the  visual  darkness  of  the  goddess 
who  turns  the  wheel  of  man's  destiny.  Tom  was 
ignorant — there  is  no  denying  that — illiterate,  in- 
deed, he  might  be  called,  but  Tom  knew  that  hhn- 
Bclf,  and  although  ignorance  was  certainly  not  bliss 
in  his  case,  yet  he  never  attempted  to  pass  himself 
off  for  what  he  was  not,  and  for  that  very  reason, 
people  spoke  kindly,  never  harshly  or  contemptuously 
of  his  deficiency.     His  wife  was  a  very  different 


-  ill 


1  ,••■; 


i  in  fi 


f  I'  ) 


If  ' 


f»; 


■'•!* 


;!;t 

ii'! 
id 


iMt 


il!!! 


i 


Hi!' 

., :' 

111 


'  'iil! 


If  h  ! 


fill 


'|! 

•Ii! 

I 


Ii 


ii'il 

lii 


82 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


person.  More  fortunate  than  be,  she  had  "  a  little 
Bmattering  of  education/'  just  enough  to  enable  her 
to  read  her  prayer-book  and  write  her  own  name — 
an  accomplishment  which,  in  her  own  case,  was 
altogether  superfluous,  as  the  girls  did  all  the  writ- 
ing of  the  family.  It  vs^as  easy  done,  for  that  mat* 
ter,  as,  apart  from  Tom's  business,  the  accounts  of 
which  were  kept  by  a  certain  Atty  Fitzge?ald — 
commonly  called  Garrell — the  private  norrespond- 
ence  of  the  house  of  Gallagher  consisted  in  a  letter 
at  Christmas,  and  another  at  Easter,  to  an  old  aunt 
of  Tom's  in  the  county  Clare,  his  sole  surviving  rela- 
tive. These  letters,  to  Tom's  credit  be  it  said, 
were  something  more  than  mere  sheets  of  paper 
covered  with  neat,  fair  characters ;  they  were  meant 
for  the  Christmas-box  and  the  Easter-gift,  and  were 
Bent  accordingly  lined  with  a  draft  for  some  five 
pounds  sterling  on  the  bank  of  Ireland,  payable  ij] 
Ennis.  Mrs.  Gallagher's  relatives  were  all  in  Ame- 
rica, scattered  here  and  there,  and  it  so  happened 
that  none  of  them  stood  in  need  of  assistance, 
though  none  had  been  so  fortunate  as  herself  in 
securing  a  fair  share  of  this  world's  wealth.  She 
had  two  sisters  married  to  farmers  out  West,  one  in 
Wisconsin,  the  other  in  Illinois,  and  her  only  brother 
was  a  settler 

"  Deep  in  Canadian  woods," 

where  the  Ottawa  rolls  down  his  silver  tide  to  swell 
the  great  St.  Lawrence.     His  home  was  a  pleasant 


TA8TK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


33 


ad  "  a  littla 

enable  her 

wn  name — 

case,  was 

11  the  writ- 

i'  that  mat* 

iccounts  of 

itzge?ald — 

lorrespond- 

in  a  letter 

n  old  aunt 

reiving  rela- 

be  it  said, 

I  of  paper 
^ere  meant 
,  and  were 
some  five 
payable  in 

II  in  Ame- 
happened 
assistance, 
herself  in 
ilth.  She 
3st,  one  in 
y  brother 


0  to  swell 
pleasant 


farm-house  in  the  fertile  Ottawa  Valley,  and  his 
daughters  and  his  sons  were  growing  up  around  him 
strong,  fresh  and  healthy  in  the  invigorating  pur- 
suits of  agricultural  industry — far  away  from  tha 
contaminating  influence  that  abounds  in  cities.  So 
good  Mrs.  Gallagher  was  in  the  habit  of  boasting 
that  she  hadn't  a  soul  belonging  to  her  that  wasn't 
"  getting  along  first-rate,  and  'mbeholding  to  any 
one."  Not  that  she  meant  this  as  a  hint  for  Tom 
for  Tom's  old  aunt  in  Clare  had  no  more  generous 
friend  in  the  family  than  its  bustling  mistress — no, 
no,  it  was  merely  a  good-natured,  harmless  boast, 
and  as  such  Tom  always  took  it  and  answered  in 
the  best  possible  good  faith :  "  That's  no  lie,  any- 
how— they're  a  well-doing  set  of  people,  and  have  a 
mighty  great  push  in  them."  And  so  they  were,  and 
Mrs.  Gallagher  was  as  "  well-doing'*  as  any  of  her 
kin.  She  had  helped  Tom  well  in  the  accumulation 
of  their  little  fortune,  and  now  that  it  was  made  siie 
had  no  desire  to  spend  it  foolishly,  as  she  said  her- 
self; she  was  just  as  willing  to  work  then  as  she 
was  years  before  when  they  were  laying  the  founda- 
tions of  their  prosperity.  Though  a  great  lover  of 
cleanliness  and  neatness,  she  kept  but  one  servant, 
even  after  their  removal  to  the  new  house,  giving  ic 
as  her  opinion  that  it  would  be  a  burning  shame  for 
seven  women  of  them  if  they  couldn't  keep  the 
house  in  proper  order  with  one  girl  to  do  what  out- 
door work  there  was,  together  with  the  washing 
and  scrubbing.     Her  daughters  grumbled  no  littln 


if 


^■l\ 


lili! 


;iit 


■I 

1!  i|  'I 


'  'I 


l!'f 


i  II 


I 


i!  ' 

IP! 
I  ''[ 


I 


j '  (■ 


ii! 


I'M! 

j' 
i 

! 
Ill 


r>  m 


1    "f  I. 'I 
.  I 

! 


I 


lift! 

>!'ltl 


,  I  HI 


■''Hli 


84 


OLD    AND    NEW  :    OR, 


when  they  first  came  home  from  school  to  find  them* 
selves  under  the  hard  necessity  of  taking  each  a  share 
of  the  household  work;  it  was  something  that  had 
never  entered  their  calculations,  and  they  felt  morti- 
fied and  indignant  at  being  subjected  to  menial  avo- 
cations after  coming  home  from  school.  Of  course, 
their  "  schooling-days"  were  not  all  begun  or  ended 
together.     They  were  at  school  three  by  three. 

"  If  we  thought  this  was  to  be  the  way  of  it," 
said  Eliza,  the  eldest,  taking  upon  her  to  speak  for 
the  others,  after  she  and  her  two  next  younger 
sisters  had  left  school,  "  I'm  sure  we  needn't  have 
been  in  such  a  hurry  to  get  home.  Better  be  study- 
ing aiid  practising  in  school  than  working  like 
niggers  here  at  home."  And  the  tears  gushed  from 
Eliza's  large  round  eyes. 

"  Eliza  dear !"  said  her  mother,  "  Pm  sorry  for 
your  trouble,  as  the  word  says,  but  just  tell  me  one 
thing.  What  did  you  mean  to  do  with  yourself 
when  you'd  get  home  ?"  " 

"  Mean  to  do !"  said  Fanny,  the  second  sister, 
"  why  what  woyld  we  mean  to  do  ?  What  do  all 
the  young  ladies  do  that  come  from  school  ?" 

"That's  just  v/hat  I'd  like  to  know  myself,"  said 
the  mother  quickly,  but  still  very  composedly. 

"  Why,  dear  me,  ma !  I  never  thought  you  was 
BO  stupid !"  cried  Eliza  petulantly ;  "  don't  every- 
body know  that  young  ladies  who  have  got  a  good 
education  can't  be  toiling  and  drudging  about  the 


TA8TK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


u 


[ind  tliem' 

bch  a  share 

;  that  had 

I'elt  morti- 

enial  avo- 

Of  course, 

or  ended 

;hree. 

ay  of  it,'* 

speak  for 

younger 

dn't  have 

be  study- 

kiDg  like 

3hed  from 

sorry  for 

ill  me  one 

yourself 

id  sister, 
at  do  all 


yi 


? 

lelf,"  said 
dly.  ' 
you  was 
't  every- 
>t  a  good 
bout  the 


house — if  they  did  their  hands  wouldn't  be  fit  to  be 
seen,  nor  their  clothes  neither !" 

"  But  what  are  they  to  do?"  persisted  the  mother 
who  was  busy  polishing  her  parlor  furniture.  "  la 
their  good  education  to  keep  them  from  using  thei'' 
hands?" 

"  Why — why — ,"  said  the  girl,  her  eye  falling  be 
neath    her    mother's    searching    and    halfquizzicai 
glance,  "  they  can  play  the  piano " 

"  Well  ?" 

"  And  sing  sometimes "' 

"  Very  good,  and  what  more  '?" 

"  Why  my !"  cried  EUie,  the  third  daughter,  in  a 
very  saucy  tone,  "  what's  the  use  of  such  catechis- 
ing as  that?  Can't  you  tell  her,  Eliza,  that  they 
have  got  to  do  everything  at  home  that  they  learned 
at  school?" 

"  Oh  1  I  see,"  said  the  mother,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  with  a  half  smile  on  her  thin  face,  "  I 
see! — so  because  you  hadn't  a  chance  to  polish  fur- 
niture, or  dust,  or  sweep,  or  cook,  when  you  were 
at  school,  you  are  never  to  do  any  such  things  in 
your  whole  life  ?  Now  who's  to  do  all  this  for 
you?" 

"  Why,  servants  to  be  sure  !" 

"  Ay,  if  you  happen  to  have  them  ?  But  if  you 
haven't,  if  your  father  is  not  able  or  not  willing  to 
keep  them,  who's  to  do  the  work  then  for  this  large 
family  of  ours  ?'* 

*'  Why,  ma !  surely  we  can  afford  to  keep  enough 


S6 


OLD   ANI    NEW  ;   OR, 


fii 


litll 


•I  i  H 


irjjlll     , 

I  mm 

liiiil'lj  it.l 


of  help  to  do  all  the  work?  What's  the  use  of 
people  being  rich  if  they  have  to  break  their  hearts 
working  as  you  do  all  the  time?" 

"i'wi  not  breaking  my  heart  working,  and  I  don't 
think  work  breaks  any  one's  heart.  But  it's  a  folly 
to  talk,  girls  !  so  I'll  just  tell  you  the  short  and  the 
long  of  it.  Your  father,  maybe,  isn't  just  as  rich  as 
you  take  him  to  be,  and,  at  any  rate,  he'll  not  hear 
of  keepin'  more  than  one  girl,  so  you  see  youVe 
got  to  work,  whether  you  like  it  or  no.  And 
there's  another  thing  to  be  said  about  it — I  guess 
you'll  all  want  to  go  out  no  worse  than  your  neigh- 
bors in  regard  to  dress?" 

*'  Why,  of  course,  ma !  we  must  look  decent,  or 
we  can't  go  out  at  all." 

This  simultaneous  answer  elicited  an  approving 
nod  from  the  mother.  "  Well !  then,  girls,  if  you 
want  to  dress  well,  you  must  work  well — do  you 
understand  me  now  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma !"  This  response  came  forth  in  a  tone 
very  diiferent  from  the  other.  The  two  mono- 
syllables dragged  each  a  heavy  chain. 

"  Well !  it's  a  bargain,  is  it  ?" 

"  Y — e — s,  m — a !"  letter  by  letter. 

"  Up  with  you,  then,  and  begin  at  once  ! — get  t/ou 
lo  work,  Eliza,  to  wash  these  windows,  and  let 
fanny  do  the  closet  in  the  next  room." 

"And  what  shall  /do,  ma?'*  inquired  EUie,  very 
demurely,  glancing  at  her  sisters,  "  I  guess, I'm  tc 
wash  the  dishes." 


M^i 


TASTE   Vr,RSUS   FASHIOK. 


8r 


"  Or  take  the  part  of  Cinderella,"  suggested  Eliza, 
"  you're  the  youngest,  you  know,  so  y')u'U  be  ash- 
weuch." 

"  None  of*  your  humbugging  now,"  said  the 
mother,  "  I  know  what  you're  up  to  with  your  Cin- 
derellas — you'd  all  like  to  be  jjrinccsses,  and  sit  in 
state  till  some  prince  or  another  came  along  to  pick 
you  up,  but  as  there's  no  fairy  godmothers  now-a- 
days  it's  the  hard-working  fathers  and  mothers  that 
must  pay  the  piper.  Now  I  tell  you  again,  my  good 
ladies,  if  you  want  to  wear  silks  and  satins  you  must 
give  a  hand  with  the  work." 

"  My  goodness,  ma !"  said  Ellie,  pouting,  "  I  only 
asked  was  I  to  wash  the  dishes — I'm  sure  that  was 
no  harm." 

"  I  didn't  ask  you  to  wash  the  dishes,"  said  her 
mother  angrily,  "  you  know  I  didn't,  but  there's  a 
eight  of  stockings  to  be  darned,  and  clothes  to  be 
mended,  and  I  want  you  to  do  some  of  Ma^." 

Eliza  groaned  and  turned  up  her  eyes  ;  her  sisters 
tittered  and  made  wry  faces  at  each  other  behind 
their  mother's  back,  but  they  went  to  their  several 
tasks  notwithstanding,  and  from  that  day  forward  a 
part  of  each  day  was  allotted  to  work,  and  it  soon 
became  so  easy  and  natural  to  the  girls  to  assist  in 
managing  the  affairs  of  the  house  that  what  seemed 
at  first  an  intolerable  burden  was  at  last  a  source  of 
pleasure.  When  the  other  three  sisters  came  homtt 
from  school,  they  had  just  the  same  horror  of  house- 
hold work,  and  the  same  ground  had  to  be  gone 


4  iii. 


38 


OIJ)    AND    NF.\T  ;    OR, 


I  -(■' 


|!' 


'I.I 


iiiii:!; 


I! 


over  with  them.  The  process  was  somewhat  easier 
however,  in  their  case,  having  the  example  of  their 
elder  sisters  before  their  eyes,  and  finding  from  their 
detailed  experience  that  there  was  no  other  way  of 
"  coming  round  pa,  or  ma  either,  so  as  to  get  what 
they  wanted." 

"It  a'nt  any  use  trying  to  get  out  of  it,"  said 
Eliza,  with  quite  an  oracular  air,  during  a  sisterly 
conclave  held  a  day  or  two  after  Mag  and  Annie  and 
Janie  came  home  "  for  good" — "  we  tried  every- 
thing, when  we  came  home,  but  nothing  would  do ; 
pa  and  ma  would  have  us  work,  whether  we  liked  it 
or  not,  and,  I  tell  you,  we  did  ?iot  like  it,  at  first,  but 
we  got  used  to  it  after  a  while,  and  now  we'd  all  aa 
soon  do  it  as  not — it  a'nt  any  trouble  to  us  now." 

"  But,  la  me,  only  fancy  us  doing  servants'  work  !" 
and  Annie,  half-crying,  held  out  he*-  little,  soft 
plump  hands,  and  looked  at  them  with  a  most  rueful 
expression  of  countenance. 

"  Never  mind,  Annie  !"  said  the  elder  sister,  now 
becoming  rather  womanly,  "  never  mind,  we'll  give 
you  new-comers  the  lightest  part  of  the  work.  You 
can  choose  for  yourselves." 

"  Well !  I  know  what  Fll  do,"  said  Janie,  in  a 
shrill  treble  voice,  shaking  her  liead  knowingly  at 
the  same  time,  "  Fll  feed  Tabby  and  wash  Gumbo.''* 

Tabby    was    the    venerable    mouse-catcher,  and 
Gumbo   the   canine   pet   of   the   household — a  fat, 
squat  little  poodle. 
.  The   chorus   of   laughter    that    greeted    Janie'i 


nm< 


Mi(n  .:i'. 


iil 


>9TE    VERSUS    FASHION, 


S9 


at  easier 
of  their 
I'om  their 
r  way  of 
get  what 

it,"  said 
I  sisterly 
Lnnie  and 
d  every- 
ould  do; 
e  liked  it 
first,  but 
e'd  all  as 

now." 
•j'  work  !'* 
btle,   soft 
)st  rueful 

jter,  now 
ve'U  give 
rk.    You 

nie,  in  a 
singly  at 
u??ibo.''* 
her,  and 
—a  fat, 

Janie'a 


"  ch(  ice"  by  no  means  disconcerted  the  little  maiden, 
who  was  tolerably  self-possessed  for  a  damsel  of 
iitt(.'L'n.  When  her  father  was  told  that  evening  of 
tlie  work  which  Jjuiie  had  allotted  to  herself,  he 
laughed  immoderately,  and  swore  the  child  should 
have  her  way.  "  Don't  let  me  see  you  grind  /ler 
down  with  work,  old  woman  !"  he  said  to  hia  wife, 
*'  or — or — you  and  Til  quarrel ;  she's  but  a  child  yet, 
and  there's  enough  of  you  without  her;  so  just  let 
her  practise  her  music  and  amuse  herself  a  little — 
you'll  get  her  in  the  traces  soon  enough,  i'//  go 
bail !" 

"  I  declare  to  the  Lord,  Tom  Gallagher  !"  cried 
his  wife,  bristling  up,  *'  you'd  spoil  all  the  children 
in  New  York  City!  A  line  house  we'd  have  of  it  if 
you  had  your  way." 

"  Why,  honest  woman  !  don't  be  in  a  passion ! 
you  know  well  enough  I  never  bother  my  head  about 
your  affairs;  you  and  the  girls  have  it  all  among 
yourselves ;  I  know  you're  a  first-rate  driver,  but  I 
don't  want  little  Janie  to  be  driven  for  another 
while  ;  just  let  her  alone,  and  do  as  you  like  with  the 


rest 


J) 


"  Oh !  certainly,  Tom,  cer-tain-ly  !"  said  the  keen- 
witted matron  with  ironical  emphasis,  "  I  give  you 
ray  word  I'll  not  ask  Janie  to  do  a  hand's  turn — 
we'll  not  spoil  her  growth,  depend  on  it.  It^s  easy 
tee?i  she^s  a  Gallagher.'''^ 

And  so  saying,  Mrs.  Gallagher  flounced  out  of  the 
room  with  a  look  of  ineffable  contempt  at  her  good* 


af*^' 


mm 


mm 


..!!., I,;!, 


I 


!  >■■ 


')! 


;  H 


I!'!'!! 


M 


(I 


It  I 


1 


lllpii 

iillllli 


i|  !-, 


I(. 


it 


tt  11 


''Kill!': 


40 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


iiatured  partner,  who  was  in  the  habit  of  boasting 
that  his  youngest  daughter — who  was  also  the  pret- 
tiest— was  the  dead  image  of  a  favorite  sister  of  his 
that  died  when  he  was  a  boy. 

Tom  was,  as  we  have  said,  a  good-natured  man 
and  if  he  didn't  believe  his  wife  always  in  the  right 
he  did  believe  that  she  was  seldom  in  the  wrong. 
Though  his  trade  was  V)lood,  there  was  nothiiij* 
quarrelsome  in  his  disposition,  and  he  would  make 
any  personal  sacrifice  at  any  time  to  uphold  the 
great  principle  of  the  hymn-book  that    . 

"  Whatever  brawls  disturb  the  street 
There  should  be  peace  at  liome." 

Tom  knew  nothing  of  Dr.  Watts  or  his  Divine 
Songs,  but  that  was  his  maxim,  notwithstanding. 
He  was  sorely  perturbed,  therefore,  in  spirit,  at  the 
storm-cloud  that  had  arisen  on  the  domestic  horizon, 
and  he  hastily  dispatched  Eliza  after  her  mother  to 
tell  lier  that  he  "  didn't  mean  anything,"  and  she 
"  mustn't  be  vexed  at  him." 

"  And  run  you,  too,  Janie  dear !"  said  the  honest 
butcher,  "  and  wM  your  mother  you're  willing  to  do 
whatever  she  Mds  you  do.  That's  my  girl — run, 
now,  and  you'll  see  what  a  nice  silk  dress  I'll  buy 
you  to-morrow  !'* 

Janie's  sulky  face  brightened  in  an  instant,  and 
away  she  tripped  after  her  elder  sister,  in  a  glow  of 
ecstatic  delight,  her  mind  full  of  the  promised  silk 
dress.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  embassy  was 
iu  all  respects  successful,  for  Janie  volunteered  hei 


TASTE   VERSUd    FASHION. 


41 


boasting 
the  pret- 
,er  of  his 

red  man 
the  right 
le  wrong. 
I  Tiolhiny; 
iild  make 
)hold  the 


lis  Divine 

^standing, 
rit,  at  the 
c  horizon, 
mother  to 
and  she 

he  honest 
ing  to  do 
girl — run, 
8  ril  buy 

stant,  and 
i  glow  of 
nised  silk 
bassy  was 
eered  hei 


Bcrvices  for  anything  and  everything,  and  the  mother 
wiii  so  highly  pleased  by  the  ready  admission  of  her 
supreme  authority  that  she  not  only  ratified  Tom's 
j)romise  in  regard  to  Janie,  but  extended  it  to  all 
the  others.  To  be  sure  the  reconciliation,  on  tlieso 
terms,  was  rather  an  expensive  one,  but  what  went 
for  dress  was  well  laid  out,  according  to  the  estab- 
lished theory  of  the  house  of  Gallagher,  and  so  long 
as  "pa  was  willing  to  shell  out"  there  were  no 
qualms  of  conscience — or  of  prudence. 

Mrs.  Gallagher  and  her  two  eldest  daughters  sal- 
lied forth  on  the  following  afternoon  on  the  great 
and  all-important  business  of  shopping.  Pleasura- 
ble though  the  prospect  was,  there  was  a  cloud  on 
the  brows  of  "  a'  the  three"  when  they  stepped 
down  stairs  ready  for  town.  The  fact  was  that 
the  whole  seven  faces,  of  Mrs.  Gallagher,  namely, 
and  the  six  Misses  Gallagher,  were  all  more 
or  less  under  a  cloud  at  that  particular  moment. 
The  four  junior  ladies  were  grievously  troubled  in 
mind  that  they  couldn't  all  be  of  the  shopping  party, 
against  which  the  mother  set  her  face  in  toto.  Each 
one  wanted  to  "  choose  her  own,"  as  we  u^od  to  say 
or  sing  in  our  childish  days  when  marching  round 
hand-in-hand  with  our  young  companions  marrying 
off  the  heiress  of  a  certain 

" poor  w  dow  that  lived  in  Athlooe," 

which  bereaved  individual 

" had  ne'er  a  daughter  to  marry  but  one  !" 

This  fair  damsel  of  Athlone  was  earnestly  and  r» 


m 


i 


i 


m 


"^pp 


r:;ri 


;!■:! 
I"* 


'm 


>]':>', 


i|M| 


!!! 


M 
*'lil 

l[:l 


i|H 


ti' 


llliii 


42 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


peatedly  admonished  (in  the  play)  to  "choose her  own,' 
and  the  Miss  Gallaghers,  without  any  such  solemn 
mjunction,  did  think  themselves  entitled  to^choope 
their  own"  new  silk  dresses.  The  house  was  pretty 
oqually  divided  on  the  question,  l)ut  as  the  minor- 
ity included  the  maternal  parent — who  was  a  sort 
of  autocrat  in  her  way — the  majority  was  forced  to 
yield  to  the  stern  law  of  necessity.  Well!  that 
accounted  for  four  of  the  lowering  brows,  but  what 
had  gone  wrong  with  the  other  three  that  they,  too, 
should  exhibit  unmistakeable  signs  of  discontent  ? 
Their  conversation,  as  they  walked  to  the  neighbor- 
ing avenue  to  take  the  cars,  will  enlighten  the  reader 
on  that  point. 

"  I've  a  great  mind  not  to  go  at  all,'*  said  Mrs. 
Gallagher  who  was  dressed  in  a  rich  brocade  silk, 
flounced  half-way  up  the  skirt,  a  deep  circular  cape 
of  the  finest  black  velvet,  and  an  exceedingly  small 
bonnet  of  crimson  velvet,  ornamented  with  two 
white  ostrich  plumes  so  long  that  they  tipped  her 
little  narrow  shoulders  on  either  side  at  every  step 
she  took.  "  I've  a  great-mind-not-to-go-at-all," 
said  she  again  with  increasing  determination.  "  How 
does  he  think  I  can  buy  six  dresses — not  to  speak 
of  a  shawl  I  wanted  for  myselt^ — out  of  a  hundred 
and  fifty  dollars  .<"' 

"  A  hundred  and  fifty  dollars,  ma !  why,  I  thought 
he  gave  you  two  hundred,  and  even  that  would  bo 
hardly  enough.  Why,  that  shawl  you  were  looking 
at  iu  Stuart's  is  fifty-five  dollars,  you  know  !" 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION'. 


43 


!  her  own,' 
ch  solemn 
to"chooFe 
vna  pretty 
he  miiior- 
'^as  a  sort 
forced  to 
^ell!  that 
,  but  what 
they,  too, 
scontent  ? 
neighbor- 
the  reader 

said  Mrs. 

)cade  silk, 

cular  cape 

igly  small 

with    two 

ipped  her 

very  step 

o-at-all," 

n.    "How 

to  speak 

%  hundred 

I  thought 
would  be 
•e  looking 


"  Yes,  but  I  could  do  with  the  other  he  showed 
us  at  forty,  though,  to  be  sure,  I  set  my  hearo  on 
bavin'  one  like  Mrs.  Dan  Brogan's.  But,  then,  you 
Bee,  even  at  that,  I  wouldn't  have  enough  left  to  get 
the  six  dresses.     Do  vou  think  I  would,  Eliza?" 

"  Not  if  you  got  that  pearl  moirc  anhquc  for 
Fanny  and  me — they'd  be  eighty  dollars,  you  know.'* 

'*  I'll  do  no  such  thing,  then,"  the  mother  replied 
sharply,  "  less  must  do  you  this  time.  It's  every 
one  of  you  for  herself  Kighty  dollars,  indeed  ! 
wliy,  that  would  be  the  half  of  the  whole,  wouldn't 
it  ?  and  how  would  I  manage  for  the  other  four,  if  I 
got  any  kind  of  a  shawl  worth  carry ira'  home." 

"Well,  ma!"  pleaded  Eliza,  between  whom  and 
her  sister  divers  admonitory  gestures  were  ex- 
changed, "you  know  it's  for  Lil  Bmith'a  party  we 
want  them,  and  Dora  Brady  and  Lucina  Diigan  and 
Jo  Fitzsimmons  have  all  got  7noirc  antiques!'^ 

"  Mare  aUeck^  your  granny  !"  The  cars  had  just 
stopped  to  take  in  our  fair  trio,  so  the  debate  was 
adjourned  to  Stuart's,  thcCollosseum  of  fashion. 

Seated  in  a  ro.v  at  the  counter,  Mrs.  Gallagher 
and  her  daughters  resumed  the  discussion  of  the 
marc  a  tech  question,  with  the  grei<  collateral  issue 
of  spinnirig  two  dresses  of  that  co.  .ly  fabric,  four 
feilks  of  approved  "  style"  and  a  sliawl  like  Mrs.  Dan 
Brogan's  out  of  the  fifteen  ten-dollar  bills  wherewith 
Tom  Gallagher's  niggardly  generosity  had  furnished 
his  wife's  porte-monnaie. 

Many  a  sly  glance  of  humo^'ous  intelligence  passed 


1^ 

m 


n  ii"^ 


11  'ill 


■ 


u 


ill'   li '  •' 


:!' 


111 


I'll 


mi' 


'  ii! 


SI 

i 


lit;"' 
'!  .„ 


I 


4| 

'I  ■I*  >>;| 

Ml 


1=!!! 

;i:! 


f»  ie 


•t 

'    r  ( 


lilll: 


*:'!!! 


m 


\\'\ 


it  I 


ill 


SI 


.I'l"l'l 
1 


I  '■ 


'I't 


44 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


amongst  the  finical  young  gentlemen  behind  tha 
counter  as  they  came  and  went  iii  th.  ir  arduous  avo- 
cation of  "  waiting  on"  the  Gallagher  ladies  and  all 
the  other  ladies  who  at  that  p.'irticuiar  hour  wer 
paying  their  costly  tribute  to  the  fantastic  divinity, 
Fashion.  It  is  probable  that  the  tedious  delibera- 
tions of  our  three  ladies  would  soon  have  exhausted 
the  patience  of  the  young  gentlemen  aforesaid,  had 
not  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  her  daughters  been  well 
known  in  Stuart's  as  "  fowl  worth  a  plucking" — good 
for  ready  money. 

The  council  of  three,  after  exercising  the  young 
gentlemen's  professional  patience  for  the  space  of  an 
hour,  at  length  brought  its  sitting  to  a  happy  con- 
clusion. A  parcel  was  made  up  containing  two 
moire  antiques,  marked  on  the  bill  seventt/Jive  doUars, 
two  brocades,  Jifty,  two  plain  chocked  silks,  tiventy- 
five^  seven  pairs  Alexander's  best  kids,  screw  dollars, 
and  one  Paisley  shawl,  ffty  dollars — "Total — tvo 
nuNURED  AND  SEVEN  DOLLARS,'*  as  the  obscquious  young 
gentleman  v/ho  had  the  privilege  of  summing  up  the 
figures,  announced  in  the  blandest  manner  possible. 

"  I'm  afeard  I  haven't  got  enough  to  pay  you  all," 
said  Mrs.  Gallagher,  taking  out  her  porte-mon* 
naie. 

"  It  don't  make  the  slightest  difference,  ma'am,* 
said  the  extra-civil  shopman,  as  he  handed  the  fif- 
teen ten-dollar  billa  to  the  juvenile  official  whom  his 
spasmodic  cry  of  "  Cash  !"  had  summoned  from 
parts  unknown.     "  The  balance  can  lie  over  till  you 


•  1 1)1 


.1*! 


■f,!t.,li 


t^ 


TASTE    VERSUS    TASHION. 


4b 


behmd  th« 

rluous  avo- 

lies  and  all 

hour  wer 

ic  divinity, 

IS  delibera- 

exhaiisted 

resaid,  had 

been  well 

ng" — good 

the  young 
ipaoe  of  an 
lappy  con- 
ining  two 
five  doUars, 
cs,  tiventy- 
cn  dollars^ 
otal — Tvo 
ous  young 
ng  up  the 

possible. 

you  all," 
ortenion* 

nia'am," 
d  the  tif. 
wliom  his 
led  from 
'X  till  you 


come  again^-oi — whenever  it  suits  your  couvenienco. 
ma'am !" 

'Tm  entirely  obleeged  to  you,'*  answered  Mrs. 
Tom,  with  an  air  of  grateful  deference.  "  It'll  not 
be  long  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  Don*t  hurry  yourself,  ma^am  ! — ahem  !*'  with  a 
comical  glance  from  the  corner  of  his  eye  at  his 
next  neighbor  behind  the  counter.  "  We'll  be 
always  happy  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Gallagher !  but  pray 
don't  trouble  yourself  coming  on  account  of  the 
little  balance — it  is  only  fifty-seven  dollars  "  , 

"  Fifty-seven  dollars !"  repeated  the  maternal 
Gallagher  to  her  daughters,  as  they  emerged  from 
IStuart's  by  one  of  the  Chambers  street  doors. 
"  Lord  save  us,  girls !  we'll  be  killed  dead — your 
father  'ill  have  our  lives !" 

"  Nonsense,  ma !  we  can  manage  him  easy  enough 
— even  if  he  docs  get  in  a  passion  about  it,  it  will  blow 
over,  you  know  !  and  then  we  can  make  believe 
that  weWd  very  angry,  and  pa'll  be  glad  enough  to 
make  peace  with  the  fifty-seven  dollars — perhaps 
more.  But  then  our  moire  antiques!  I  do  feel  so 
bad  that  we  couldn't  get  the  shade  we  wanted. 
Thce's  what  comes  of  being  niggardly — if  pa  liad 
only  given  us  the  money  a  week  ago  we'd  have  had 
our  choice,  now  Dora  and  Lucina  and  Jo  have  got 
the  pick  of  the  whole  lot.  Why  Liz  Adams,  tv  at 
only  paid  thirty-two  dollars  for  hers,  has  a  be\  -ei 
shade  than  ours.     I  dccUic  it  is  tuo  bad — a'nl   it, 


if 


sm 


m'§ 


& 


46 


OIJ)   AND    XEW  ;    OR, 


!! 


'  I'll 
1! 


lij  Hi 


'MIIKi 


liliilisp'ti;, 


"  I  v/ish  to  the  Lord  yourselves  and  your  man 
a'teeks  were  in  —  Alabama!"  cried  the  harassed 
mother.  "  You  weren't  easy  till  you  got  thera,  and 
now  when  you  have  them,  they  don't  please  you  I 
there  I  went  like  a  fool  and  bougiit  them  for  you, 
and  you  choosed  thera  yourselves,  too,  still  you're  not 
eat^  ^ed  !  botheratior,  to  them  i'or  9fiare  a'teeks — there 
cou  J  ')e  luck  with  them  and  they  havin'  such  an 
outlano       name !" 

"  Well,  ma !  you  know  yourself  they're  nasty, 
faded  looking  things,  and  I'm  sure  they'll  look 
worse  still  when  they're  alongside  of  Dora's  and 
Jo's  and  Lucina's.  If  they'd  only  look  decent  by 
gas-light  I  wouldn't  care  so  much  !" 

"  They'll  look  better  than  you  think,"  said  Fanny, 
"and,  at  any  rate,  T  don't  care  to  have  the  very 
same  shade  as  the  others,  because,  then,  you  know, 
they'd  be  saying  we  were  copying  after  them.  It's 
just  as  well  to  have  ours  a  little  different." 

This  was  real  consolation,  and  by  the  time  the 
Sixth  avenue  stage  (for  which  they  had  been  wait- 
ing at  the  corner)  came  along,  Eliza  had  made  up 
her  mind  that  it  would  not  have  been  so  desirable, 
after  all,  to  have  the  very  exact  shade  of  Mesde- 
moiselles  Dora  Brady  &  Company's  moire  antiques 

When  the  new  purchases  were  exhibited  at  home 
Ihe  junior  Miss  Gallaghers  were  not  over  well  satis- 
fied, either,  with  their  share  of  "  the  shopping."  Some 
of  the  dresses  were  allowed  to  be  "  passable,"  but 
othei's,  and  of  the  last  numbfer  was  Janie's,  wer« 


TASTE    VERSUS    fASHION. 


41 


f 


)ur  mart 
harassed 
lera,  aiul 
ise  you  I 
for  you, 
ou're  not 
s — there 
such  an 

e  nasty, 
^'11  look 
ra's  and 
3cent  by 

\  Fanny, 
the  very 
)u  know, 
2m.     It's 

time  the 
3en  wait- 
made  up 
lesirable, 
r  Mesde- 
antiqiies 
at  home 
'ell  satis- 
f."  Some 
ble,"  but 


pronounced  "  horrible  things,"  and  "  as  old  as  the 
hills." 

"  Why,  ma !"  said  Janie  pursing  up 

"  Her  wee  bit  mou'  sae  sweet  and  bonnie." 

"  Why,  ma !  what  ever  put  it  in  your  head  to 
buy  that  blue  checked  silk  for  me,  and  to  go  to  Lil 
Smith's  party,  too  ?" 

"  And  what  fault  dc  you  find  with  it,  miss  ?" 

"  Why,  goodness  gracious  me  I  couldn't  Eliza 
have  told  you  that  Amy  Moore  had  one  just  the 
very  same !" 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that,  Eliza?"  asked  the 
mother  very  gravely ;  "  the  child  is  right  enough ;  if 
Amy  Moore  has  one  like  it,  it  would  never  do  for 
Janie  Gallagher.  Them  Moores  are  so  upsetting 
and  carry  their  heads  so  high  since  the  old  fellow 
got  into  the  corporation,  that  you'd  think  the  whole 
city  belonged  to  them.  Why,  I  met  my  lady  her- 
self in  the  market  the  other  day,  and  only  think,  if 
she  hadn't  the  assurance  to  turn  up  her  nose  as  she 
passed  me,  as  if  I  was  dirt  in  her  eyes.  She  doesn't 
mind  how  often  I  obliged  her,  when  I  used  to  give 
her  credit  a  couple  of  dollars  at  a  time,  until  Larry 
would  fall  into  work  again.  Many  a  time  they'd 
have  wanted  their  dinner  if  it  wasn't  for  my  four 
bones! — but  now,  to  be  sure, Larry's  in  the  corpora- 
tion, and  Madam  Peggy  must  begin  to  put  on  airs ! 
I  wouldn't  mind  it,  though,  if  she  wouldn't  bo 
trying  to  cope  up  with  us  and  the  likes  of  us,  that 
could  buy  Larry  Moore  from  the  gallows  till  withio 


i 


iU 


m 


^^TTTrw 


!i;i 


,!i:i 


m 

Sill 

ill 


ilii 


if  J:  :i  m 


::ri' 


i  1 


p 

11 


If   ' 


•I  i;i 


'•Hi  I 


(I 


u 


iM 


i'lii! 


.itll 


i!|p 

HI 


If 

I 

ill 


I 


m 


n 


mm 

H:U,;,!.  Ijijjj 
.jllj 

II* 


liil 


tiiilril| 

lit-' 


18 


OLD    AND    ITEW  ;    OR, 


the  last  couple  of  years — and  God  knous  where  th€ 
money  carne  from  /"  she  added,  with  a  mysterioui 
air,  that  deeply  impressed  her  attentive  hearers,  who, 
of  course,  shared  their  mother's  enmity  towarne 
the  audacious  Moores — who  were  notoriously 
guilty  of  getting  up  suddenly  in  the  world,  and, 
what  was  far  more  heinous,  attempting  not  only  to 
imitate  the  ladies  of  the  house  of  Gallagher,  but  ac- 
tually to  out  do  them  in  the  world  of  fashion  !  There 
was  impudence  for  you  !  Larry  Moore,  that  kept  a 
little  shanty  of  a  liquor-store  away  in  some  back 
Pi  eei  until  luck — or  something  else — threw  a  penny 
ot  mOiiey  in  his  hands  and  shoved  him  into  the  cor- 
poration— to  think  oi his  folk  comparing  themselves 
to  them  (the  Gallaghers)  and  their  father  having  one 
of  the  first  stalls  in  Centre  Market,  and  one  of  the 
oldest,  too !  No,  the  blue  checked  silk  must  be  re- 
turned to  Stuart's — that  was  unanimously  agreed 
upon — and  Eliza  and  Fanny  were  severely  repri- 
manded by  their  mother  for  not  having  thought  of 
it  in  time,  i.  c,  during  the  counter  session — that 
that  red-haired  fright  Amy  Moore  had  one  like  it. 
Serious  fears  were  entertained  that  "  Stuart's  pecple" 
wouldn't  bo  so  ubliging  as  to  change  the  unlucky 
blue  check  for  another,  but  these  fears  did  "  Stuart's'* 
A  great  injustice,  for  the  dress  was  happily  and  satis 
factorily  changed  for  one  that  was  declared  "  a  per- 
fect beauty,"  which  "  beauty"  came  with  the  further 
recommendation  that  one  of  the  first  young  ladiei 
in  town  had  got  onfe  like  it  the  day  btforo       _  . 


I,':' 

^,  :'■ 

■l^:,.. 

TASTE    VERSUS   FASHION 


49 


where  tht 
lysterioui 
rers,  who, 
towarue 
itoriously 
>ild,  and, 
t  only  to 
,  but  ac- 
!    There 
at  kept  a 
me  back 
a  penny 
the  cor- 
emselves 
ving  one 
le  of  the 
8t  be  re- 
r  agreed 
ly  repri- 
>ught  of 
on — that 
2  like  it. 
I  people" 
unlucky 
>tuart's" 
nd  6;:tis 
"  a  per- 
s  further 
g  ladiei 


"11 


This  point  settled,  the  next  thing  was  to  send 

for  Miss  Waldron,  the  family  dressmaker,  who  n\  aa 

esteemed    one    of   the    best    in    New    York,   and 

was  honored,  accordingly,  with  a  most  extensive 

patronage.     She  had  few  equals  and  no  superior  in 

the  art  of  "  fitting." 

"  Ami  even  the  st  ry  ran " 

that   she   had    "fitted"   the    President's    lady — an 

achievement  worthy  of  her  high  reputation,  seeing 

that  the  same  exalted  individual  was  not  particulaily 

remarkable  for  symmetry  of  shape,  whatever  other 

perfections  she  might  have  brought  to  the  White 

House.     It  may  well  be  believed  that  Miss  Waldron, 

endowed  with  all  this  wealth   of  fame,  rated  her 

professional  services  pretty  highly,  and  made  her 

customers  pay  well  for  the  honor  of  being  "  fitted" 

by  so  eminent  an  artiste.     There  is  no  denying  that 

such  was  the  fact;  Miss  Waldron  did  charge  high, 

she  professed   to  charge  high,  and  Miss   Waldron 

thought  it  was  the  interest  of  her  employers  as  well 

as  her  own  that  she  sliould  charge  h\gh,  because  it 

kept  low  people  from  aspiring  to  the  honor  of  being 

"fitted"  in  u  style  that  ought  to   be  reserved  for 

their  betters.     In  fact  Miss  Waldron  was  a  sort  of 

Barnum  in  her  own  "  line  of  business,"  and  knew  as 

well  as  that  potent  humbug  himself  how  to  get  up 

a   name.      Notwithstanding    her    aristocratic   pre 

tensions,  the  Gallagher  family  had  been  on  her  list 

a  number  of  years,  which  fact  she  accounted  for  to 

others  by  a  patronizing;  admission  that  "  she  had 


«! 


m 


60 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


IPS 


:!:Pi"i^ 


f 
illi 


:liiivli! 


'  1 


been  working  for  Mrs.  Gallagl  er  before  she  got  right 
into  the  business,  and  she  reallv  didn't  like  to  hurt 
the  poor  woman's  feelings  by  leaving  off — of  course, 
the  Gallaghers  weren't yws-f  t/ie  thing,  she  knew  that— 
but,  then,  she  couldn't  well  get  over  doing  their  work 
now  though  she  had  more  than  she  could  do  from 
the  first  in  to  wn."  To  the  Gallaghers  themselves  Miss 
Waldron  spoke  in  a  different  key,  and  declared — 
probably,  in  all  sincerity,  that  she  had  no  bettor 
customers  than  they. 

This  stately  lady — for  stately  she  was — brought 
joy  and  happiness  to  the  troubled  minds  of  Mrs. 
Gallagher  and  her  daughters  six  by  the  gratifying 
announcement  that  the  moire  antiques  were  "  the 
very  thing" — upon  her  word,  Miss  Waldron  said, 
the  Misses  Gallagher  were  very  lucky  to  get  that 
particular  shade,  for,  to  her  knowledge,  Mrs.  Liv- 
ingston Brandreth  had  been  all  over  town  in  her 
carriage  looking  for  that  very  identical  shade. 
"  How  it  escaped  her  eyes  in  Stuart's  I  really  don't 
know,  but  all  I  can  say  is,  you  were  very,  very  lucky 
— I  mean  fortunate."  Miss  Waldron  prided  herself 
on  using  choice  language,  befitting  her  close  connec- 
tion and  frequent  intercourse  with  the  great. 

Questioned  '"egardiug  the  junior  dresses,  Misa 
Waldron  said  they  were  "very  nice,  indeed"  — 
when  she  came  to  Janie's,  she  made  that  younjj 
lady's  heart  beat  the  tattoo  on  her  ribs  by  the 
exclamation : 

**  Dear  me,  Miss  Janie  !  this  is  just  the  same  ai 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASRIOM. 


51 


one  I  ma 'e  last  week  for  Mias  Von  Wiegel,  and  she 
always  has  such  nice  things.*' 

"  Mis9  Von  Wiegel !"  oried  at  least  four  of  the 
seven  voices  appertaining  to  the  Gallaghers,  "  why 
that  must  be  the  grand  lady  that  the  clerk  told  us 
he  sold  one  like  it  to."  "  You're  sure  it  wasn't  the 
moire  antique  ?"  superadded  Eliza. 

"  Moire  antique !  no,  indeed,  it  wasn't,  Miss  Von 
Wiegel  never  wears  anv  such  thinff." 

"  Il'ow  can  that  be,  if  she's  one  of  the  first  ladies 
in  town  ?" 

"  Now  I've  put  my  foot  in  it,"  said  Miss  Waldron 
to  herself,  "  and  if  I  can't  get  decently  out  of  it,  the 
iat's  all  in  the  fire."  Luckily  for  the  modiste  she 
was  tolerably  ready  witted,  so  she  quickly  recovered 
herself,  and  made  an  additional  point  at  the  same 
time. 

"Oh!  you  see,  she  and  the  old  Madam  are  all 
alone  now — alone  in  the  world,  as  one  may  say — 
and  for  all  they're  so  rich  and  so  grand,  they've  had 
trouble  enough,  I  assure  you — I  mean  to  say  they 
have  had  their  share  of  this  world's  trials,  and  are 
not  long  out  of  mourning  for  the  old  Ritter — in- 
deed, the  Madam  has  Tiot  laid  aside  her  mourning 
garb,"  said  ^liss  Waldron  solemnly  and  poetically 
"  and  never  will,  but  Miss  Bertha— I  mean  Miss  Vol 
Wiegel — has  just  commenced  wearing  colors  again 
They  see  very  little  company  at  any  time — the  com- 
pany here  don't  suit  them— and  I  believe  it  is  not 
their  intention  to  see  any  at  all  now.     So,  of  course, 


m  '■ 


•■;<i; 


■4 


Mi:;,;,ii,.ili? 

'iM 
mm 

fW 


H  '   'ill 


•If 
111 

i 

m 


its 


Ik 

'if  i 


:ii!! 


;si, 


'il'^i; 


iiiiil" ! 


mm 


53 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


Miss  Ber ,  I  mean  Miss  Von  Wiegel,  has  n  >  need 

of  }7ioire  antique .'" 

•*  But  the  Ritter,  who  was  he  ?" 

"  Why,  the  old  Madam's  husband,  of  course 
Ritter  is  a  sort  of  title,  you  know,  in  the  country 
they  came  from — somewhere  in  Europe." 

"And  Bertha!  what  a  lovely  name!  And  ar« 
they  very,  very  rich  ?" 

"  Yes,  very,  very  rich  !' 

"  And  yet  your  Miss  Von Von what's  her 

name,  never  wears  moire  antique — why,  my  good- 
ness !  if  I  was  her,  I'd  wear  rru)ii'e  antique  all  the 
time." 

"  Well,  tastes  differ,  you  see,*'  said  Miss  Waldron 
with  a  scarcely  perceptible  smile.  "  When  will  you 
want  these  dresses,  young  ladies  ?" 

This  made  a  diversion,  as  Miss  Waldron  meant  it 
should,  and  the  Von  Wiegels  were  forgotten  in  tho 
nearer  and  dearer  affair  of  "the  fitting.'* 


s  113  need 


T18TE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


58 


f  course 
)  country 

And  ara 


'hat*8  her 
ny  good- 
tc  all  the 

Waldron 
will  you 

meant  it 
n  in  tho 


CHAPTER  III. 

riNANOIAL    DIPLOMACY     VND    A    FRENCH    LESSON. 

Before  we  leave  the  Gallaghers  for  the  present 
the  reader  may  be  curious  to  know  how  the  little 
balance  at  Stuart's  was  arranged  between  Tom  and 
his  "  womankind,"  as  worthy  Mr.  Oldbuck  was  wont 
to  say.  In  most  other  households  of  the  same 
standing,  with  any  other  head  than  Tom  Gallagher, 
the  aifair  would  have  resulted  in  a  general  embroglio, 
and  the  younger  daughters,  as  it  was,  were  fright- 
ened when  they  heard  of  such  a  balance  still  remain- 
ing. To  their  school-girl  ideas  an  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars  was  an  immense  sum  of  money  to  have  the 
spending  of  The  mother  and  the  elder  daughters 
took  the  matter  so  easy  that  it  quite  mystified  tho 
juniors,  who  were  literally  trembling  with  appre- 
hension as  the  hour  approached  when  their  father 
usually  came  home  for  the  night.  Mrs.  Gallagher 
went  bustling  about  as  usual,  but  the  "juveniles" 
remarked  that  a  magnificent  oyster-stew  engaged 
her  particular  attention.  Now  this  wa"  7  »m*8  fiivor- 
ite  supper,  and  it  hapr^ened  very  well  luat  the  care- 
ful wife  should  have  it  in  readiness  on  that  particu- 
lar evening.  Eliza,  ""J'anny  and  Ellie  were  all  quietly 
at  work,  the  two  lormer  making  up  flannel  under, 
olothes,  the  latter  kaitting  away  as  fast  as  her  deli' 


«p 


^''^lii 


,,;«. 


hi 


0£-n    AND    NEW  ;    OB, 


*!i 


lij'' 


¥¥^^f: 


li':;i'ji'.. 


1  ■< 


■  fI'ii" 


cate  fingers  could  go  at  a  woollen  sock.  Every* 
thing  was  in  its  place — even  Gumbo  and  Tabby  on 
the  rug  in  front  of  the  well-polished  grate  in  which 
the  brightest  of  coal  fires  was  burning. 

At  last  in  came  Tom,  and  the  momci.^  ne  entered 
the  door  his  olfactory  nerve  was  greeted  by  the 
grateful  odor  from  the  kitchen — it  so  happened  that 
the  doors  leading  from  the  lower  regions  were  all 
open  that  evening. 

"Ah  ha!"  said  Tom  rubbing  his  hands  as  he 
mounted  the  stairs — they  were  still  in  the  old  house— 
"  I  smell  something  good,  and  I'm  just  in  the  humor 
to  relish  it,  for  the  evening's  raw,  and  I'm  both  cold 
and  hungry." 

Pie  drew  a  chair  to  the  fire,  and  p'*  p  his  feet 
on  the  fender  v/hilst  the  oysters  were  I .  .^  served. 
tlis  three  elder  daughters  were  all  so  intent  on  theif 
work  that  they  barely  spoke  to  him. 

"  Why,  girls,  you're  all  very  busy,"  said  the  well- 
pleased  father,  as  he  spread  his  hands  to  catch  thq 
grateful  warmth — "  what  are  you  at  now  ?" 

"  Oh  !  that's  a  secret,  pa !"  said  Mag,  who  was 
arranging  the  supper  on  the  table.  The  elder  sif- 
ters only  laughed  and  looked  at  each  other  as  if  im- 
posing silence.  "  Never  mind,"  said  Mag,  who  wais 
the  "  rattle-pate"  of  the  family,  "  I  see  you  want  to 
know  what  it  means,  so  I'll  tell  you." 

"  If  you  dare  !"  said  Eliza  holding  up  her  finger 
whilst  the  oMiers  chimed  in  with  "  Now  don't  Mag, 
don't  r     . .  ••     . 


§ 


i(    I'Vvti 


TASTB    VERSUS    FASHION. 


m 


2k.  Every* 
lI  Tabby  oa 
^te  in  which 

ne  entered 
ted  by  the 
)pened  tha6 
ms  were  all 

knds   as   he 

old  house— 

the  humor 

1  both  cold 

p  his  feet 

^  served. 

nt  on  theif 

i  the  well- 
catch  the 

who  was 
elder  sif- 
r  as  if  im- 
,  who  wab 
►u  want  to 

ler  finger 
on't  Mag, 

.-.«4..V    -.V    ' 


"I  will!"  said  Mag  resolutely,  "just  because  I 
Know  you  don't  want  me  to.  They  wanted  to  sur- 
prise you,  pa,  but  now  that  you've  caught  them 
there  a*/\t  any  use  hiding  it  longer.  EUie's  knitting 
a  pair  of  woollen  socks  for  you,  and  she  means  to 
knit  two  or  three  pairs  more,  because  ma  says 
they're  better  and  warmer  than  any  we  can  get  to 
buy." 

"  Oh !  you  wretch !" — "you  shocking  bad  girl !" — ■ 
"  wait  till  we  get  a  secret  of  yours !" 

"  Never  mind  them,  Mag !"  said  Tom  in  mcreas- 
injx  ffood  humor.  "What's  the  flannel  for?  Is  it 
for  me,  too  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  pa !"  said  the  too-candid  Mag  lowering 
her  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper,  "  that's  to  send 
to  Ireland  by  Mr.  McMuUen  when  he's  going " 

"  To  Ireland,  Mag  ?  Ah !  then,  who  to  in  Ire- 
land ?"'  asked  Tom,  and  his  heavy  eyes  began  to 
sparkle  with  unusual  lustre. 

"  To  dear  old  Aunt  Biddy}!'''  whispered  Mag  in 
his  ear.  "  You  know  she's  got  the  *  rheumatics  !'  " 
This  last  was  said  loud  enough  for  the  others  to 
hear  as  the  adroit  Mag  was  giving  a  quotation  from 
old  Biddy's  letter,  and  the  nature  of  the  good 
dame's  disease,  as  set  forth  by  the  schoolmaster, 
her  neighbor — one  Paddy  Hanratty — had  afforded 
much  amusement  to  the  accomplished  young  ladies 
her  grandnieces.  Mag's  drollery  had  nearly  spoiled 
ail,  for  her  sisters  were  "  so  tickled,"  as  they  after 
wards  declared,,  "to  hear  how  nicely  she  humbug- 


s'! 


i;' 
■*,■ 


li'lJli if. 

I  'In:     J  '«»•  • 


!l 


111 


I'lli 


L  '■■■'I  •! 

Mm 


.Hi; 
iill 


i.l 


'  'fl 


«'iFteiiii;^4 


ill 


56 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


ged  the  old  man^  that  when  she  came  out  at  last 
with  Aunt  Biddy's  *  rheumatics'  they  couldn't  stand 
it  any  longer."  So  they  had  to  run  out  of  their 
father's  hearing  to  give  free  vent  to  their  merri- 
ment. 

Poor  Tom  Gallagher!  v/ell  as  he  knew  how  tc 
make  mone^  he  was  little  skilled  in  the  art  of  chica- 
nery; so  he  ate  his  oysters  and  the  other  good 
tilings  provided  in  abundance  for  his  entertainment, 
and  praised  Ellen  and  the  girls  for  their  industry, 
and  still  more  cordially  for  their  kind  attention  to 
his  Aunt  Biddy — which  he  thought  more  of  than 
anything  else  they  could  do — and  wound  up  by  ask- 
ing his  wife  if  she  had  got  the  dresses. 

"  Oh,  yes,  we  got  them,  and  a  shawl  for  me,  and 
a  good  many  other  things  we  wanted.  We  hadn't 
money  enough  with  us,  but  I  knew  it  didn't  make 
any  matter — we  can  send  it  any  time — and  then  it'll 
save  'IS  going  out  again  for  a  while.  '* 

Tom's  countenance  fell  a  degree  or  so.  "  Well, 
and  how  much  were  you  short  ?  I  say,  how  much 
do  you  owe?" 

*'  Too  much,  Tom — too  much  for  my  liking,'*  and 
Mrs.  Gallagher  shook  her  head  with  a  most  por- 
tentous air. 

"  Out  with  it,  whatever  it  is,  and  let  U3  be  done 
with  it !" 

"  Weil,  it's  fifty  seven  dollars — no,  I'm  wrongs 
Bev(3nty-five !" 

Tom   responded  by   au   ejaculatory    "Whew— 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


61 


ut  at  lasl 
du't  stand 
t  of  their 
eir  merri- 

V  how  tt 
t  of  chica- 
her  good 
tainment, 
industry, 
ention  to 
i  of  than 
p  by  ask- 

r  me,  and 
'e  hadn't 
n't  make 
then  it'll 

"  Well, 
)w  much 

ng,'»  and 
ost  por- 

be  done 

wrong; 

^hew— 


w — w!"  then    repeated,    with    marked    emphasis, 
"  Seventy — five — dollars !" 

The  girls  were  about  to  interpose,  naturally  sup 
posing  that  their  mother's  arithmetic  was  at  fault. 
A    glance    of   her  eye    undeceived  them,  so   they 
listened    ia    silent    suspense    to    the    matrimonial 
dialogue. 

"  Yes,  Tom,  seventy-five  dollars  !'* 

"  And  what  did  you  do  with  the  hundred-and- 
fifty  I  gave  you  V 

"  Why,  now,  Tom  Gallagher !  you  used  to  be  a 
sensible  man,  but  I  declare — well,  it's  a  folly  to  talk, 
men  have  little  notion  of  what  it  takes  to  keep  up  a 
family,  and  dress  them  decently,  in  New  York !" 

"God  help  me  !"  ejaculated  Tom,  "/  ought  to 
know  it  by  this  time  !" 

"  Well !  didn't  I  tell  y^u  we  got  six  dresses — six 
dresses,  mind  I — and  a  shawl — and  seven  pair  o' 
gloves — seve?i  pair,  mind  you  ! — and — and " 

Mrs.  Gallagher's  memory  failed  her,  but  the  ready 
tear  came  to  her  jiid,  and,  unused  as  she  was  to  the 
melting  mood,  she  was  sudd  nly  reduced  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
whining  out,  at  the  same  time  : 

"  I^^'s  r  hard,  hard  thing  for  a  woman  at  my  age,  a 
woman  that  works  herself,  and  makes  others  work, 
too,  to  be  questioned  about  the  laying  out  of  a  few 
dollais— just  as  if  I  was  a  foolish  slip  of  a  girl  that 
didn't  know  the  value  of  money  !  I  tc.d  you — J 
toidyou  we  bought  a  good  many  things-  — ."  Taking 


i 


i 


wmmm 


mm 


ill  :;''ii-:;i 


^lli::||r],':^.i 


''if 


■^ill 


ll     V'" 


liv'l'l'i'' 


.  !! 


■11 


'%m 


68 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


the  handkerchief  from  her  eyes,  she  glanced  at  the 
fiannel  destined  for  exportation  to  Ireland,  but  said 
nothing.  Tom's  heart  was  soft,  very  soft,  and, 
somehow,  he  never  could  bear  to  see  anybody  cry ; 
it  was  a  weakness  Tom  had,  so  he  couldn't  hslp  it ; 
w^hether  his  wife  was  in  t^ '  secret  or  not,  it  served 
her  well  on  that  occasion,  for  T'^'^  was  mightily 
moved  himself,  and  said  :  "  Hut,  ..  .t,  woman  !  don't 
be  making  a  fool  of  yourself!  keep  your  tears  for 
the  widow's  cap !"  and  pulling  out  a  somewhat 
greasy  pocket-book  of  black  leather,  he  counted  out 
seventy-five  dollars  and  handed  it  to  her,  while  the 
girls  drew  back  to  hold  a  pantomimic  colloquy  of 
joyful  import  amongst  themselves. 

"There  it  is,  Ellen  !"  said  the  unsuspecting  butcher, 
*'  it's  far  off  the  rent  of  New  York,  to  be  sure,  and 
I  know  it's  nothing  but  w^Uat  you're  entitled  to,  but 
still  I'd  rather  I  hadn't  to  give  it  to  you  now,  for 
I'm  goin'  up  to-morrow  to  the  Bull's  Head  to  buy 
some  cattle,  and  I  owe  a  thousand  and  ten  dollars  to 
that  Palmer  from  Jersey  that  I  promised  to  bring 
him  to-morrow.  Still,  as  you  owe  the  money  it 
must  be  paid,  for  I  never  want  to  have  my  name  or 
yours  in  people's  books,  if  I  can  help  it.  We  must 
only  do  the  best  we  can  for  to-morrow  !"  he  said 
gloomily  to  himself  as  lift  turned  and  began  to  poke 
the  fire  with  great  energy  and  perseverance. 

Of  course  Tom  was  overwlielmed  with  thanks,  and 
the  girls  strained  f^very  nerve  to  make  the  evening 
pass  pleasantly,  which  it  did,  Tom  being  one  of  those 


TA3TE    VEKSU3    FASHION. 


59 


ced  at  the 
d,  but  said 
soft,  and, 
yhody  cry ; 
I't  help  it ; 
b,  it  served 
8  mightily 
nan  !  don't 
'  tears  lor 
somewhat 
junted  out 
,  while  the 
oUoquy  of 

ig  butcher, 

sure,  and 

ed  to,  but 

I  now,  for 

ad  to  buy 

dollars  to 

i  to  bring 

money  it 

name  or 

We  must 

'  he  said 

n  to  poko 

e. 

anks,  and 
evening 
D  of  those 


hap^jy  individuals  who  always  make  the  most  of 
C  present  enjoyment,  and  leave  the  coming  time  to 
4       take  care  of  itself. 

"  Wasn't  that  well  managed,  eh  ?"  said  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher to  her  daughters  when  they  found  themselves 
minus  the  head  of  the  house  some  time  before  bed- 
^      time. 

.f  "  Couldn't  be  better,  ma  !  couldn't  be  better !  but 

I       how  did  you  come  to  make  it  seventy-five  instead 
■f       of  fifty-seven  ?" 

"  Why,  you  goose,"  politely  said  the  astute  parent, 
"  don't  you  know  we  have  got  Miss  Waldron  to 
pay  ?*' 

"  Sure  enough  we  have — I  forgot  all  about  that  !'* 

"  Well !  you  see  /didn't  forget  it — it  takes  me,  after 

all,  for  if  I  haven't  the  larning,  I've  the  gumption  P^* 

The  girls  cheerfully  admitted  the  gumption  as  a 

known  fact,  the  more  readily  as  it  placed  the  game 

in  their  own  hands  on  that   momentous   occasion, 

and   secured  a  brilliant  turn-out  for  the  family  at 

Lil  Smith's  forthcoming  party,  which  party  was  to 

eclipse  all  the  parties  of  the  season,  and  make  Dora 

and  Co.  hide  their  diminished  heads — under 

"  The  goose-plumage  of  Folly " 

wittily  sung  by  one  who  knew  the  world  of  Fashion 
well — in  circles  where  the  moving  planets  were  tho 
high  and  the  noble — endowed  with  the  mystic  quali- 
ties, *'  birth  and  breeding" — about  equally  rare  on 
Ihis  side  the  Atlantic  ! 

*  AogUcd — Presence  of  mind.  ,  . 


m 
m 


1 


i;i«!^^1 


^i!i!!  m^ 


ililM  ,  ;|'; 


111  J  Us^".' 


liiii 

ij|t!l:!!!il;!pf 


I  i 


t 


;!• 


SO 


OLD    AND    NEW  J    OR, 


The  father  of  the  family  was  meanwhile  consoling 
himgelf  with  the  thought — if  thought  he  really  had — 
that  the  deficit  in  his  cash  for  the  morrow's  transac 
tians  at  the  Bull's  Head  would  be  somehow  made 
up  through  the  all-potent  agency  of  Atty  GarrelL 

"  He'll  wonder  what  I  done  with  it,  though,"  said 
he  half  aloud  as  he  shook  the  ashes  from  his  last 
pipe ;  "  he  knows  I  had  it  made  up — them  con- 
founded women !  what  a  time  they  came  at  me  ! — 
well !  there  a'nt  any  use  fretting  about  it — there's 
no  cure  for  spilled  milk,  as  poor  Aunt  Biddy  used  to 
say.  I  must  just  only  tell  Atty  that  I  had  a  little 
bill  to  pay — and  so  I  had,  the  deuce  take  it !" 

Poor  Tom  Gallagher !  soft-hearted,  kind  Tom  Gal- 
lagher !  he  could  not  keep  the  dollars  in  his  pocket- 
book  and  see  his  family  "  put  about"  for  the  want 
of  them — least  of  all  when  the  payment  of  "  a  ba- 
lance" was  in  question,  for  one  of  Tom's  peculiari- 
ties was  a  nervous  dislike  of  being  "  in  people's 
books."  So  he  would  rather  encounter  Atty  Gar- 
rell's  asperity,  and  trust  to  his  ingenuity  than  allow 
his  name  to  stand  in  black  and  white  on  Stuart's 
books  as  a  debtor.  There  was  a  solid  stratum  of 
honorable  principle  at  the  base  of  Tom's  mind,  waste 
and  un  cultivated  as  the  upper  surface  was.  Tom  was 
an  easy  creditor  himself,  often  too  easy  for  Atty 
Garrell's  liking  or  the  interests  of  "  th3  concern," 
but  he  never  wanted  to  be  a  debtor,  or  claim  him- 
self that  indulgence  he  was  so  ready  to  extend  to 
others.     "  Fashion"  was  Tom's  great  misfortune, 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


ei 


e  consoling 
eally  had— 
v^a  transac 
3ho\v  made 

Garrell. 
5Ugh,"  said 
m  his  last 
them  corv- 

at  me  ! — 
it — there's 
dy  used  to 
lad  a  little 
it !" 

Tom  Gal- 

lis  pocket- 

the  want 

of  "  a  ba- 

peculiari- 

people's 
Vtty  Gar- 
lan  allow 
I  Stuart's 
'atura  of 
id,  waste 
Tom  was 
Tor  Atty 
oncern," 
lim  hiin- 
ctend  to 
ilbrtime, 


bnt  in  his  case  the  misfortune  was  in  some  degree 
counterbalanced  by  the  industrious  habits  of  the 
family.  The  balance,  indeed,  was  far  from  equal, 
"'  for  whilst  Industry  saved  the  dollars  in  units,  Fash-^ 
ion  ran  away  with  them  in  tens  and  hundreds. 

^L         The   dresses   and   gloves,  with  certain   other  d 
Wm     ceteras  in  the  shape  of  flowers,  blondes  and  laces, 

^  being  secured  for  Lil  Smith's  party,  it  became  the 
next  object  of  consideration  amongst  the  Gallaghers 
feminine  who  all  were  to  be  at  the  party.  A  series 
of  visits  was  set  on  foot  for  the  purpose  of  obtain- 
ing this  important  information.  The  girls  resolved 
themselves  into  three  committees  of  two  for  the 
better  prosecution  of  the  needful  inquiries,  and 
otherwise  to  carry  out  the  views  of  the  general 
council.  All  the  spare  hours  of  three  days  were 
devoted  to  this  interesting  investigation — the  in- 
quiries, of  course,  being  made,  as  per  previous  reso- 
lution, in  the  most  cautious  and  indirect  manner 
possible  so  as  to  avoid  the  appearance  of  und'.ie 
curiosity.  The  result  was  rather  favorable  to  ihe 
hopes  and  wishes  ot  the  anxious  expectants.  Of 
some  thirty  persons  who  were  jwsitiveli/  to  be  there 
{i.  c,  at  Lil  Smith's — not  her  father's  or  mother's 
twenty-one  were  known  to  the  Miss  Gallaghers  as 
wmelxxli/s,  and  although  the  possibility  existed  that 
the  other  nine  might  be  tiobodys^  still  the  presenco 
of  so  vast  a  majority  of  decided  "  fashionables" 
justified  the  Gallagher  constellation  in  appearing  oo 
the  Smith  meridian  in  Tenth  street,  West. 


■  --si 
'  ■  '1 

■       ■■■  i'W 


^m'"" 


:■''■' iril 

ilii 


^t 


mm 


vi'll' 


63 


OLD    AND    KEW  ;    OR, 


"But  that's  true,"  said  the  mother  of  the  six 
stars,  bustling  into  the  room  where  the  girls  were 
arranging  the  flowers  for  their  hair,  and  other  such 
finishing  touches  of  their  preparations,  a  day  or 
two  before  the  party,  "  that's  true,  girls !  is  Julia 
Fogarty  going  ?" 

"  Oh !  of  course,"  cried  Mag  with  emphasis,  "  of 
course  /"  and  all  the  others  laughed.  It  was  clear 
that  Julia  Fogarty  was  no  favorite  with  the  family. 

"  Annie  and  I  met  her  at  Mrs.  Robinson's  yester 
day  afternoon,"  said  Eliza,  "herself  and  Harriet 
Stokes." 

"  Why,  you  weren't  telling  us !"  interruptecJi 
Fanny.  "  What  did  she  wear — the  black  silk  witL 
the  plaid  trimming,  eh  ?" 

"  No,  I'll  bet  it  was  tho  Maria  Louisa  blue !"  put 
in  EUie. 

"You're  both  out  this  time,"  laughed  Eliza,  " it 
was  neither  one  nor  the  other." 

"  What  was  it,  then  ? — do  you  think  she's  got  a 
new  one  ?'"' 

"  If  she  has  she  hadn't  it  on  then;  it  w^as  the  old 
brown  brocade  done  up  in  the  new." 

"  The  old  brown  brocade  !"  chorused  seven  voices 
with  a  corresponding  burst  of  laughter.  "  The  old 
brown  brocade  ! — hold  me  or  I'll  faint ! — my  stars  ! 
that  brown  brocade  must  have  been  in  wear  since 
the  year  one! — well!  did  you  ever?  La  me!  but 
ehe's  the  queer  Julia  ! — a'nt  she,  now  ?'^ 

These  were  the  exclamations  of  the  daughters 


\^: 


'£■■ 


w 


the   six 

rls  were 

her  such 

day   or 

is  Julia 

sis,  "o/" 

as  clear 

J  family. 

yester 

% 

Harriet 

irrupted/ 

ilk  witL 

e!"  put 

• 

liza,  "it 

's  got  a 

:, 

the  old 

1  voices 

rhe  old 
r  stars  I 

•1 

ir  sincQ 

^*"i 

lel  but 

ighters 

TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


68 


while  the  mother  laughed  till  hdv  sides  shook  again 
at  what  she  called  their  smartmss. 

As  we  have  unluckily  but  little  relish  for  fashion- 
able society  (so-called) !  and  have  a  misty  sort  of 
idea  that  it  must  be  a  dreadful  bore  (to  borrow  one 
of  its  own  pet  phrases)  to  spend  many  hours  of  a 
winter's  evening — those  precious  hours  that  seem 
as  though  kind  nature  meant  them  for  social  inter- 
course and  the  calm  delights  of  home — amid  the 
whirl,  and  rush,  and  crush,  and  glitter  of  a  fashion- 
able party — call  it  assembly,  soirde,  reception,  levee* 
or  what  you  will.  In  such  scenes  the  refined  and 
thoughtful  mind  is  more  oppressed  with  solitude 
than  it  would  be  in  the  awful  silence  of  the  deep 
Avoods,  or  on  the  bleak  white  shore  where  the  mur- 
muring sea-waves  come  and  go  in  perpetual  motion. 
There  is  life  in  the  grand  old  woods,  and  to  those 
whose  "  hearts  are  attuned  to  nature's  harmonies" 
their  silence  is  more  eloquent  than  human  tongue  in 
its  mightiest  power.     Yes,  true  it  is 

"  The  deep  woods  and  dark  wilds  can  a  pleasure  impart," 

and  so,  too,  can  the  many-voiced  ocean,  and  the 
rustling  of  the  breeze  and  even  the  howling  of  the 
empest,  all  these  may  be  heard  with  profit  as  well 
as  pleasure,  but  not  so  the  senseless  gabble,  the 
hollow  mirth,  the  artificial  titter,  and  the  thousand 

♦  In  American  society  the  levee  is  no  longer  the  official 
reception  it  still  is  in  old  Europe.  Would-be  fashionable 
ladies  have  their  levees  as  well  as  the  President. 


m 


'■i'< 


m 


;I     Jl|   ltt.,l|l'l 


s..  ^  '*. 


^'^I^^^i'^ 


i:.::  ■ 


m 


ri^\ 


M 


.1 


'ri-v>i;'"*i':' 

'  '  t  >  11  r '-ir  ..." 


.,i4  ^^K 

;;,r!  iH ;  ■ 

I'll)  l\, ■£■>•[ 


I 


I  t, 


64 


OM)   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


and  one  "  shams" — unreal  mockeries — that  make  up 
a  fashionable  party  where  the  vulgar  rivalry  of  drcsB 
and  the  pitiful  cravings  of  vanity  and  envy  are  the 
spirits  that  rule  the  hour;  where  men  and  w-omen 
seem  all  bent  on  showing  how  little  brains,  or  even 
true  taste  nature  gave  them.  Choice,  therefore^ 
would  never  lead  us  to  Lil  Smith's  party,  and  as  we 
have  reason  to  hope  that  many  of  our  readers  would 
be  just  as  much  out  of  place  there,  we  shall  not 
visit  the  rooms — an  apartment,  namely,  of  some 
thirtv  feet  at  most,  on  ordinarv  occasions  divided 
by  folding  doors — now  "  whipped  away,'*  how- 
ever, like  those  whose  sudden  disappearance  ir» 
Squire  Beamton's  mansion  so  puzzled  our  old  ac- 
quaintance "  the  renowned  Paul  Dogherty,  profes- 
sor of  Dancing  and  all  other  kinds  of  music,^^  How 
"  Lil's"  ingenuity  contrived  to  cram  some  forty-five 
or  fifty  people  into  her  ball-room,  like  old  Kaspar 
in  the  ballad,  we  "  never  could  make  out,"  but  that 
such  feat  was  accomplished  by  that  hospitable  young 
lady  we  have  the  testimony  of  the  six  Miss  Gal- 
laghers, the  three  Miss  Hacketts — for  they  were 
there,  too — not  to  speak  of  Julia  Fogarty  and  her 
three  brothers.  Such  a  weight  of  evidence  must, 
we  think,  establish  the  fact  to  a  mathematical  cer- 
tainty, though  Michael  Hackett,  who  for  reasons 
known  to  "  self  and  father"  had  not  availed  himself 
of  the  Smithsonian  invitation,  did  take  the  liberty 
of  insinuating  that  the  numbers  were  manifestly  ex 
ftggerated.  which  skepticism  of  Michael's  drew  dow^o 


f  It" ! 

1 

,  nti 

i  ' 

1        :, 

-  i.  •• 

1 

:ik 

m 

TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


it  make  up 
i*y  of  dress 
vy  are  the 
nd  women 
IS,  or  eveu 
therefore, 
and  as  we 
ers  would 
shall  not 
of   some 
IS  divided 
y,"    how- 
irance    ir* 
ir  old  ac- 
ty,  profes- 
c."    How 
forty-five 
d  Kaspar 
'  but  that 
ble  young 
Miss  Gal- 
hey  were 
'  and  her 
ice  must, 
.tical  ccr- 
•  reasons 
cl  himself 
le  liberty 
festly  ex 
ew  dowo 


•pon  him  the  full  measure  of  his  sisters*  wrath. 
Michael,  however,  was  in  such  matters  an  infidel  by 
profession  ;  yea,  verily,  in  the  creed  of  Fashion 
Michael  had  no  faith;  he  was  what  the  pious  Mus 
Bulmaus  would  call  "  an  unbelieving  dog,"  w^ith  as 
little  reverence  for  the  laws  that  govern  the  world 
of  Fashion  ..s  though  he  were  brought  up  amongst 
the  hermits  of  Montserrat,*  on  the  "holy  mountain" 
of  old  Spain,  where  Folly  never  waved  his  cap  and 
bells,  or  Fashion  her  potent  wand.  The  Hackett 
sisters  had  very  poor  listeners  in  their  father  and 
brother  when  their  theme  was  "  anything  in  the  dry- 
good  or  jewelry  line,"  but  they  amply  indemnified 
themselves  for  the  paternal  and  fraternal  indiffer- 
ence, by  discussing  their  favorite  topics  amongst 
themselves.  The  general  effect  of  Lil  Smith's  hospit- 
able exertions  may  be  gathered  indirectly  from  their 
enlightened  comments  when  at  four  o'clock  (P.M.) 
next  day  they  assembled  in  the  front  room,  •'  more 
dead  than  alive,"  as  they  curtly  expressed  their  used- 
up  condition. 

*'  So  the  party  is  all  over  now  !'*  said  Ann  Wilhel 
mina  with  a  yawn  that  stretched  her  mouth  from 
car  to  ear. 

"  Well !  I'm  sure  I  a'nt  sorry,"  said  Mary  Clemen 
tina;  "if  ever  I  was   so  tired  of  anythmg  in  all 

♦  Most  of  my  readers  have,  I  hope,  read  of  the  |»ious  com 
n\unii.y  of  anchorets  on  the  raouniain  of  Moniser\at.  in  Si»ain. 
An  accouDt  of  it  will  be  found  amongst  the  pilgrimages  at  IhB 
eod  of  At>b^  Orsiui's  Life  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 


i*k  it 


m 


M 

Ml 


m 


r 


66 


■nil 


II, 


V 


■  ,1 
.  'a 


:'!t  ■ 


I 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


1m 


my  life! -it  was  a  stupid  affair,  after  all — wasn't  it, 
now?" 

"  It  would  have  been,"  answered  Sarah  Eugenia, 
"  only  for  the  fun  of  watching  how  things  went  on, 
and  the  airs  some  folks  put  on  themselves.  Why  if- 
was  good  fun  to  watch  the  Smiths  themselves. 
They  just  know  as  much  how  to  get  up  anything 
of  the  kind  as — as — the  old  cobbler  over  the  way. 
Did  you  see  the  old  fellow  himself  how  he  carried 
on?" 

"  And  the  mother  not  much  better.  Ha !  ha !  ha ! 
I  can't  but  laugh  when  I  think  of  her — she  looked 
for  all  the  world  like  a  great  fat  pincushion  stuffed 
into  copper-colored  satin." 

"  And  then  the  queer  old  uncle  and  aunt  and  the 
two  skinny  daughters  from  some  place  uj)  the  Xorth 
River — la !  before  /W  invite  such  curiosities  to  my 
party !  Why  Lil  might  hire  them  out  to  Barnum 
at  so  much  u,  head — what  on  earth  drought  so  many 
old  fogies  there  ?  I'm  sure  I  wouldn't  be  bothered 
going  if  I  had  known  the  mixtrum-gatherum  of  a 
company  that  was  to  be  in  it." 

"  Well !  but  the  dresses,  Sarah,"  inquired  Ann, 
"  how  did  you  like  them?  who  do  you  think  looked 
the  best  ?" 

"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  it's  hard  to  say,"  replied  Sarah, 
looking  thoughtfully  down  on  the  carpet,  as  though 
the  matter  required  what  Sir  Patrick  O'Plenipo 
calls  "very  nice  con-sid-eration;"  "  Lucina  Ducket  t 
looked  8we<t  in  her   lavendar  mmre  with   blonds 


I 


iiiii 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIDN. 


61 


asn't  it, 

Cugenia, 
vent  on, 

Why  it 
mselves, 
nything 
he  way. 

carried 

ha ! ha ! 
looked 
stuffed 

and  the 

B  North 

s  to  my 

arnum 

many 

thered 

m  of  a 

Ann, 
llooked 

Sarali, 
:liough 
*lenipo 
luckett 

)lond3 


trimming — if  it  wasn't  for  her  round  shouldere  I'd 
pay  she  was  the  belle  of  the  room.  Dora  Brady's 
pearl  moire,  with  white  lace  skirt,  was  superb,  to  be 
Bure^  but  the  red  hair  and  freckles  spoiled  all — that 
Kate  Morrlj'son  looked  grand  in  the  straw-coloi 
satin  with  point  lace — I  tell  you  sho  did,  but  she's 
so  tall — for  all  the  world  like  a  ^^lenadier  in 
petticoats " 

This  brought  out  a  burst  of  laughter  from  all  the 
sisters,  and  there  was  mockery,  bitter  mockery,  in 
th^ir  mirth,  for  this  Kate  Morrisson  was  really  a 
tine,  dashing  girl,  dressed  "in  good  style,"  and  had 
made  quite  a  sensation  at  "  the  party."  But  she 
did  seem  too  well  acquainted  with  the  power  of  her 
own  attractions  for  other  belles  to  ring  her  praises. 

"  Didn't  Lil  look  well  ?"  said  Mary,  with  some  de- 
gree of  hesitation. 

"  Her !"  cried  the  elder  sister ;  "  why,  child  !  she 
looked  a  perfect  fright ! — my  stars !  did  you  ever  see 
such  a  thing — a  black  satin  with  bows  of  red  ribbon 
all  up  the  front,  and  shoulder-knots  of  the  same 
color  with  long  streamers,  and  another  bow  to 
•natch  tacked  on  at  the  waist  behind,  by  the  way  it 
was  a  sash  tied  there;  and  what  matter  about  all 
that  if  the  face  and  figure  were  good,  or  even  passa- 
ble!  But  Lil  Smith — oh,  my  1  I  felt  like  laug^iing 
right  out  every  time  I  looked  at  her.  It's  hard  to 
•ay  whether  herself  or  the  old  dame  lor'iC4id  the 
funniest!"  v 

"  Well !  I'm  sure  if  the  father  wasn't  fu/  nier  still 


»■■*! 


'.-^iik 


J 


H 


:  (i 


■!tl 


■^r, 


n- 


■.h'^.M  [ 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 

in  his  old-fashioned  frock  coat  that  looked  as  if  it 
was  made  for  him  before  he  fell  into  flesh,  whatever 
time  that  was." 

"  And  I'm  sure  the  pants  looked  as  if  the  good 
man  had  outgrown  them  every  way  !'* 

"  And  his  fiery  red  vest !"  cried  another. 

"And  his  fiery  red  face  1"  echoed  a  third,  "and 
his  little  round  frizzled  head  set  right  on  between 
the  shoulders  without  the  least  little  mite  of  a  neck. 
I  thought  I'd  choke  trying  to  keep  in  when  I  saw 
him  dancing  that  horrible  Irish  jig  !'* 

This  sally  provoked  another  fit  of  laughing,  and 
the  three  young  ladies  gave  full  vent  to  the  merri- 
ment which  it  had  cost  them  so  much  to  suppress 
in  the  ball-room. 

"  Well !  but  what  about  the  Gallaghers  ?"  asked 
the  younger  of  the  three  graces,  as  she  wiped  away 
the  tears  which  the  broad  caricature  of  poor  Smith 
and  his  Irish  jig  had  brought  to  her  eyes.  "  Didn't 
they  come  out  strong  in  their  moire  antiques?''^ 

"  They  didn't  all  come  out  so  strong,'*  answered 
the  senior  Miss  Hackett;  "  Tom  would  never  stand 
that^  you  know.  But  Ellie  and  Mag  looked  just  as 
well,  I  think,  as  the  two  eldest,  though  they  had  only 
brocade — but  then  it  was  really  nice." 

"  But  they're  all  so  fat,  them  il  ghers,  they 
always   look  vulgar,  no  matter  .  they  w    \r." 

And  Ann  Wilhelmina  curled  her  .^  in  hn^e  disdain, 
and  her  two  sisters,  as  a  matter  of  cour  e,  did  like* 
wise.    Miss  Julia  Foj^arty  was  next  "  brought  out, 


'  ^_  J  ■  V  ■*  i1 


TAST£    VERSi;s    FASHIOK. 


69 


and,  afler  critical  exammation,  pronounced  "  passable 
~-i/it  wasn't  for  her  snub  nose?'' 

The  refreshments  and  the  supper  were  success- 
ively discussed  in  the  same  spirit,  and  if  the  Miss 
llacketts  were  correct  in  their  estimate  "  the  grand 
aftVir  was  not  so  grand  atler  all." 

Some  time  during  that  day  Mrs.  and  the  Missei 
Gallagher  in  tlwir  turn  empannelled  themselves  into 
a  jury  to  try  "  Lil  Smith's  party"  on  the  merits. 
Many  of  their  opinions  diftered  from  those  of  th« 
Hacketts  as  regarded  individuals,  though  to  say  thi 
truth,  the  buts  were  not  wanting  in  tJicir  descrip- 
tions any  more  than  the  others.  The  Miss  llacketts, 
in  particular,  were  very  roughly  handled,  and  declared 
the  commonest-looking  girls  in  the  room.  The  sup- 
per, however,  was  by  them  declared  "  splendid,"  and, 
moreover,  "  fit  for  any  party  in  New  York."  But 
even  to  that  there  was  an  exception.  The  pickled 
oysters  weren't  nice  at  all,  and  the  tongues  were 
too  salt,  and  the  boiled  turkeys  weren't  boiled 
enough,  and  the  roast  turkeys  were  burnt  brown. 
Moreover,  the  lemonade,  it  appeared,  was  rathe*' 
tart,  and  the  ice  cream  hadn't  the  right  flavor,  at 
least,  if  there  were  different  flavorings  tho  seyen 
Gallaghers  had  all  happened  on  "  that  nasty  vanilla," 
and  they'd  rather  have  no  flavoring,  at  all,  than 
that.  "Surely  the  Smiths  might  have  had  some 
pine-apple  and  some  strawberry  and  some  lemon, 
a  little  of  each,  theo  folks  would  have  had  a  choice 
—it  was  real  mean  of  them  to  have  nothing  but 


'  \  ^'f\ 


'y'''^^>\\*. 


m^' 
i*.'j»'i 


RvBI 


10 


OLD   AN3    NEW  ;   OR, 


.     ■'  I 


vanilla  !'*  Still  there  were  some  things  "  really  nice," 
and  the  two  pyramids  of  ice  cream  and  maccaroons, 
one  at  each  end  of  the  table,  looked  "  so  elegant" 
with  a  splendid  bouquet  of  hot-house  flowers  in  the 
centre — "  do  you  know  what  ?"  wound  up  Fanny  m 
a  most  emphatic  tone,  "Lil  paid  five  dollars  for 
that  bouquet !  i" 

*'  Well !  and  whrt  if  she  did  ?'  said  Eliza  rather 
abruptly  as  it  seemed,  but  Miss  Gallagher  knew 
what  she  was  about.  "  Of  course,  it  set  out  the 
table — indeed,  it  wouldn't  have  looked  anything  at 
all  without  it — and,  then,  when  people  do  give 
parties  they  ought  to  spare  no  expense  to  have 
everything  in  good  style." 

"  After  all,"  said  Mrs.  Gallagher  with  a  shake  of 
the  head  that  implied  a  shade  of  dissent,,  "  afteJ 
all,  Eliza,  money  is  money,  as  Atty  Garrell  sayj 
(Atty  was  quite  an  authority  on  loatters  financial), 
and  five  dolLirs  is  too  much  for  a  bokay  of  fiovv'ers — 
just  for  one  night ~" 

"  Why  my  goodness,  ma !  if  it  goes  to  tkat^ 
*vasn't  everything  on  the  table  'just  for  one  night' 
as  well  as  the  bouquet  i*"  laying  an  emphasis  on  the 
last  word  meant  to  give  her  mother  a  gentle  hint 
for  present  and  future  application." 

"  Yes,  but  still,  you  know,  there's  reason  in  all 
things,  and  for  my  part,  I'd  sooner  buy  a  decent 
dress  with  the  five  dollars  than  a  bo-kay  of  flowers." 

"  Bouquet,  ma !"  said  Elizb  impatiently,  seeing 
that  iiints  would  not  do  for  her  maternal  nrogeni- 


I,, 


.}:^ 


^i'\: 


«t 


the 
hint 


n  ail 

[oent 


TASTK   VERSUS   FASHION. 

tor  where  French  pronunciation  was  in  question 
*'  Can't  you  say  bou-quet  instead  of  bo-kay  ?" 

*'  Bo-kay  /"  repeated  Mrs.  Gallagher  again,  enun- 
eiating  each  syllable  with  a  painful  degree  of  em- 
phasis. 

"  You  may  as  well  let  her  alone !"  said  one  of  the 
others,  as  soon  as  she  could  speak  for  laughing. 

"  Well,  but,  ma !"  persisted  Eliza,  "  a'nt  it  just  as 
easy  to  say  bouquet  as  bo-kay  ?" 

*'  And  didn't  I  say    bo-kay  ?'' 

Eliza  made  a  gesture  of  impatience,  whereat  her 
sisters  laughed  the  more.  Their  mother  stood  with 
a  bowl  of  eggs  she  was  beating  in  one  hand,  and  the 
egg-beater  in  the  other,  looking  round  the  circle  in 
open-mouthed  bewilderment.     At  last  she  spoke — 

"  Well,  I  declare,  you're  a  tine  set  of  girls ! — 
laughing  at  me  because  I  can't  get  my  tongue  round 
a  word  that  my  mother  before  me,  or  my  father 
cither,  never  heard  or  never  said — no,  nor  their 
seven  generations,  I  suppose,  more  than  themselves  ? 
Fine  times,  indeed !"  and  the  egg-beater  went  to 
work  with  greater  velocity  than  ever. 

*'  Eliza  admonished  her  sisters  by  a  look  that  the 
"  old  woman"  must  be  pacified.  I  say  not  that  she 
acted  on  that  particular  text  of  the  "  collectivo 
wisdom  of  agiis"  which  says  that  a  soft  word  turneth 
away  lorath,  >)ut,  however  it  was,  she  gave  tho 
gills  the  cue  io  exonerate  themselves,  which  they 
hastened  to  do. 


ww4 


'.'^i  1 


&m 


•1   f.       '■,'■■' '••■•I 


ti'vi'*.''-**^' 


i'1 

1    :l 


72 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


■!  1 
'■) 


1  ^  ii 


mm 

■      .     .     ,  ■  Id 

Ml 


:iy'j 


"  Why,  ma !  it  wasn't  at  you  we  were  laughing— 
it  was  at  Eliza,  trying  to  teach  you  French !" 

"  French  ?" 

'*  Yes,  ma!  you  know  bouquet  is  a  French  word." 

"  Do  you  tell  me  so  ?"  said  the  mother  with  a  look 
of  newly-awakened  interest.  "  Sure  I  might  knov7 
it  was  something  by  common,  for  it  seemed  to  stick 
on  my  tongue  like.  Well !  see  that  now  ! — many  a 
strange  thing  I've  seen  in  my  time,  but  I  never 
thought  to  see  myself  talking  French." 

"Well!  but  don't  try  your  baud — I  mean  your 
tongue — at  it  any  more,"  said  Eliza  in  a  half-jest- 
whoie-earnest  sort  of  tone,  "  tvhen  you  want  to  say 
bouquet  again,  be  sure  you  say  '  a  bunch  of  flowers'— 
will  you  remember  that? — you  know  it's  one  thing 
for  us  to  put  French  names  on  things  and  another 
for  yon  to  imitate  us  without  knowing  what  you're 
Baying."  Without  giving  her  mother  time  to  get 
oflfended  at  this  pert  speech  Eliza  went  on  very 
rapidly:  **I  hope  when  we  give  our  party,  ma! 
you'll  let  us  have  a  bouquet? — won't  you,  now  ?" 

"  Bo-kayoY  no  bokmj^^  rejoined  the  mother,  some- 
what testily,  "  the  ne'er  a  party  you'll  have  till  you 
get  into  the  new  house,  whatever  lime  that'll  be.'* 

The  young  ladies  were  about  to  protest  against 
this  harsh  decree,  but  their  father's  knock  at  the  door 
Bent  them  all  "  about  tlieir  business"  for  the  time 
being. 


''I 


■  s"  fj\^K'i 


■d 


3om,e- 

11  you 

)e.'» 

gainst 
door 
time 


iBTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


If 


CHAPTER  IV. 

RHBINFEL DT    HOUSE — TASTE    BUT    NOT    FASHION. 

Following  the  course  of  my  veracious  narrative,  a 
am  well  pleased  to  conduct  my  readers  to  an  old* 
fashioned  residence  some  two  miles  farther  up  town, 
but  much  nearer  the  East  River.  The  house  waa 
cu  the  line  of  the  First  avenue,  but  it  fronted  on 
our,  of  the  intersecting  streets.  The  old  mansion, 
for  such  it  was,  was  not  yet  "  crowded  up"  by 
those  pretentious  piles  of  building  which  are  rapidly 
covering  the  surface  of  Manhattan  Island  above  the 
business  part  of  New  York  City.  Happily  for  the 
lovers  of  antiquity  and  the  votaries  of  true  state, 
there  are  still  to  be  found  within  the  precincts  of 
our  overgrown  city,  not  a  few  dwellings  that 
remind  us  of  the  good  old  times  when  New  Amster- 
dam was  a  staid  and  sober  city,  laying  the  founda- 
tiohs  of  the  great  wealth  and  prosperity  since 
attained  by  New  York.  Here  and  there  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  great  city,  and  occasionally  even  within 
its  thoroughfares,  these  ancient  dwellings  of  the 
real  "  New  York  aristocracy"  strike  the  passing  eye, 
their  antique  gables  and  high-pitched  roofs  half 
Been  through  the  overhanging  branches  of  their  own 
'■  tall  ancestral  trees,"  whose  gracefully  varied  foli- 
age forms  a  soft,  and,  as  it  were,  protecting  shade 


m 


■     -'1  '•  '-iV-i      <■ 


m 


•  -'I. 


v\ 


til"  It.     iU         •    >    ' 

*  ■,•"  ■   "     '-• ... 


hli'lSi:'; 


I     ••)   -,  „ 


(■:. 


i  I  iiK  ,ii1 


1  'I'ii 


Ivi 


li. 


Yt 


OLD    AND    NEW  J    OR, 


around  the  mansion.  And  truly  they  are  refreshing 
to  h)ok  upon,  those  homes  of  departed  generations, 
for,  independent  of  the  quiet  loveliness  of  the  shady 
nook,  the  quaint  simplicity  of  the  house  and  its  sur- 
roundings, you  feel  that  refined  and  cultivated  taste 
presided  over  their  erection,  seconded  by  ample 
means.  Then  imagination  has  free  scope,  for  you 
know  that  men  and  women,  very  different  from 
those  we  see  around  us,  dwelt  of  old  in  those  apart- 
ments, of  whose  interior  you  catch  glimpses  through 
the  narrosv  windows;  that  reverend  age  full  often 
trod  those  shaded  verandahs,  and  brave  and  noble 
lovers  whispered  vows  to  gently-nurtured  maidens 
in  the  shade  of  those  graceful  lindens  where  the  mur- 
muring fountain  plays.  Poetry  and  old  romance 
glide  hand  in  hand  through  the  quiet  alleys  of  the 
terraced  garden,  and  the  sunbeams  that  play  amid 
the  branches  and  sleep  in  beauty  on  the  Telvet  sward, 
are  like  spirits  from  the  land  of  dreams.  Old  mem- 
ories hang  in  clusters  round  every  graceful  feature 
of  the  scene,  and  although  they  be  not  your  own 
memories,  although  they  have  no  answering  chord 
in  your  heart,  you  can  feel  pleasure  in  the  thought 
rtiat  there  are,  and  must  be,  hearts  who  understand 
their  mute  expression  in  inanimate  objects — hearts 
who  hold  the  key  to  their  wealth  of  ancient  lore, 
and  can  people  the  scene  with  forms  and  faces  frostt 
their  own  domestic  annals. 

Such   a  house    is    that    to   which   we    are    now 
conducting    the  reader.     With   its  pointed    gabk 


'i 


I 


I 


< 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


15 


towards  the  river,  and  its  antique  front  overlook- 
ing its  own  sloping  lawn  on street,  it  forms  a 

graceful  picture  of  the  old,  aristocratic  days  of  New 
York.  It  was  evidently  a  mansion  of  some  note  in 
the  old,  old  time,  and  you  whisper  it  softly  to  your- 
seli  as  you  gaze  on  its  double  tier  of  covered  veran- 
dalis  extending  round  the  gable  facing  the  river, 
and  partially  screened  from  the  public  view  by  an 
ornamental  lattice- work;  its  successive  rows  of  old 
casement-windows ;  the  balustrade  of  light,  open 
tracery  running  along  the  base  of  the  roof;  the  long 
flight  of  stone  steps  descending  from  the  principal 
entrance  to  the  undulating  ground  beneath,  fenced 
on  either  side  by  a  heavy  balustrade  of  white  mar- 
ble; the  classical  urns  of  that  costly  stone  surmount- 
ing pedestals  of  Doric  simplicity  on  small  artificial 
knolls  on  either  side  of  the  carriage-road  that  ends 
at  the  foot  of  the  steps ;  the  venerable  trees  that 
here  and  there  dot  the  broken  ground  between  the 
house  and  the  gate  opening  on  the  road,  and  the 
rare  and  beautiful  shrubs  so  tastefully  interspersed 
over  the  smooth  grassy  surface  of  the  lawn.  You 
wish  to  know  something  of  the  favored  owners  of 
that  beautiful  dwelling,  who,  and  what  manner  of 
people  they  are  who  dwell  among  the  shadows  of 
so  venerable  a  mansion.  They  cannot  be,  you  say, 
the  parvenus  of  New  York  societ}',  the  cormorants 
who  have  grown  fat  and  lusty  on  the  pennies  and 
shillings  of  the  poor,  and  are  so  infatuated  by  their 
own  purse-proud  vanity  that  they  forget  the  dcpthi 


,f. . 


■v 


.ft 


'K''  *    i  ■< 


'-''f^m 


■  t 

■  -1 

:i.'ii 


'Si 


,  ".li 

\i 

■i  ■■"•:  I 


lil'i 


7r> 


OLD    AN*)    NEW  ;    OR, 


from  which  they  have  arisen  and  would  soar  to  the 
upper  regions  of  society  without  manners  or  educa- 
tion, or  even  common  sense  to  steady  their  upward 
flight  or  secure  them  a  firm  footing  in  that  world 
of  Fashion  to  whose  highest  places  they  aspire. 
Reader,  you  are  right  in  your  conjecture  ! — such 
were  not  the  inmates  of  Rheinfeldt  House — before 
which  we  have  tarried  perhaps  "  ower  lang"  for 
your  patience.  The  cold  clear  moon  of  "  brown 
October"  wm  sleeping  on  the  lawn  and  the  marble 
urns  with  the  late  autumn  flowers  lingering  on 
their  tops;  and  the  balustrades  and  the  light  pil- 
lars of  the  verandahs,  and  the  fast-stripping 
branches  of  the  old  trees,  were  all  clearly  defined 
in  the  silver  sheen  of  the  night ;  and  those  mellow 
rays  stole  softly  and  silently  through  the  latticed 
windows  and  rested,  as  it  were  in  love  on  a  scene 
within  that  would  have  fixed  the  eye  and  gladdened 
the  heart  of  Peter  Paul  Rembrandt. 

Full  in  the  light  of  a  bright  coal  fire,  blazing  in 
the  grate  of  a  low,  old-fashioned  fireplace,  sat  an 
aged  lady,  whose  venerable  features  were  bordered, 
not  concealed,  by  a  widow's  cap,  beneath  which  her 
silver  grey  hair  was  smoothly  parted  on  her  high, 
pale  forehead,  but  slightly  furrowed  by  the  wrinkles 
of  age.  The  ample  folds  of  her  sable  dress  con- 
trasted strikingly  with  the  colorless  hue  of  her  wan 
features,  yet  there  was  that  in  the  clear  outline  of 
the  face,  the  dark,  piercing  eyes,  the  sharp,  aquiline 
nose,  and  the  firm  compression  of  the  thin,  pallid 


li-S^  Xl 


ng  m 
at  an 
lered, 
|h  her 
high, 
Inkled 
con- 
wan 
e  of 


t 


TASTE  VER3US  FASHION. 


t1 


lips,  that  denoted  uncommon  energy  of  character. 
The  face  and  the  full,  large  figure,  reclining  in  a 
deep  arm-chair  of  massive  proportions,  formed 
a  picture  of  reverend  age,  venerable  but  not  de- 
crepit, and  gave  the  impression  of  a  well-pre- 
served ruin,  stately  even  in  decay.  Kneeling  beside 
the  chair,  on  a  low  tabouret,  with  her  head  resting 
on  the  old  lady's  shoulder,  and  her  ftice  turned 
towards  the  window,  was  a  younger  lady,  whose 
features,  though  cast  in  a  different  mould,  had  pre- 
cisely the  same  expression  as  those  of  the  aged 
matron,  and  left  little  doubt  on  the  mind  regarding 
the  degree  of  relationship  existing  between  the  two. 
It  was  not  a  girlish  face,  though  still  youthful,  nor 
were  the  large  hazel  eyes,  upturned  to  the  silvery 
l)l!met  that  was  floating  through  evening  ether,  the 
eyes  of  "  a  merry,  laughing  girl."  There  was  deep 
thought,  and,  perhaps,  deeper  sadness,  in  their 
steadfast  gaze ;  and  there  was  firmness  of  purpose 
and  strength  of  will  in  the  curve  of  the  delicately- 
formed  Roman  nose  and  in  the  lines  already  forming 
round  the  beautiful  mouth,  then  slightly  open,  like 
that  of  a  person  in  a  gentle  slumber,  showing  teeth 
of  pearly  whiteness — shaded  by  soft  rolls  of  glossy 
brown  hair,  it  was  a  face  that  imprinted  itself  on 
your  memory,  and  made  you  feel  that  the  mind  and 
heart  beneath  were  high  and  generous  and  noble. 
There  was  a  record  of  strange,  perhaps  untold,  emo- 
tions in  the  depth  of  those  radiant  orbs. 
They  were  alone,  the  mother  and  daughter,  and 


■■v ;  <}v. 


Vu'r.>':;r:^ 


::"r1 


■■■■■'/■.;•. •:»!.■>  < 


■t  ' 


■,t 


\  ■■■*■/ 


,aitii 


'     ''-  '■  , 
•'i     '  I 


?  i''t '  '': 
i      I'   •> 


t^' 


n 


OIJ)   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


the  only  light  in  the  room  was  that  from  the  grate 
with  the  streams  of  moonlight  shining  in  through 
the  two  windows  and  cheque-ed  by  the  bars  of  the 
lozenge-shaped  panes  of  the  antique  casement.  The 
branches  of  the  linden  outside,  with  the  few  shri- 
velled leaves  that  still  clung  to  them,  formed  a  deli- 
cate and  graceful  tracery  through  the  shadowy  lat- 
tice-work  that  rested  aslant  on  the  floor  on  a  "  field 
argent."  The  remaining  portion  of  the  spacious 
apartment  was  enveloped  in  gloom  made  still  deeper 
by  contrast  with  the  warm  glow  around  the  fire- 
place and  the  silvery  light  from  the  windows.  Par- 
tially within  the  light  stood  a  small  octagonal  table 
of  dark  polished  oak,  with  heavy  claw-shaped  feet 
supporting  the  massive  trunk  or  pedestal,  and  on  it 
lay  a  large  folio  volume  open,  its  outlines  dimly 
visible.  On  the  low  broad  mantel-piece,  curiously 
and  quaintly  carved,  stood  a  time-piece  that  might 
have  been  on  duty  there  since  the  first  fire  gleamed 
from  the  capacious  fireplace  beneath,  and  over  it 
hung  a  picture  that  seemed  in  the  dim  light  a 
portrait.  Curtains  dark  and  heavy  hung  from  fes- 
tooned valances  over  the  windows  in  the  style  of 
our  grandfathers'  days,  but  their  folds  were  drawn 
back  on  either  side  to  admit  the  softened  radiance 
from  without  and  give,  at  the  same  time,  a  view  of 
the  starry  heavens,  that  magnificent  canopy  whick 
from  age  to  age 

*'  Publishes  to  every  land 
Th^  vbrk  of  an  Almighty  haiK*.'* 


■  -.M\ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


7» 


The  lights  and  shades  in  that  home-picture  were 
50  beautifully  blended  yet  so  clearly  defined,  and  the 
group  we  have  described  presented  so  fair  an  illus- 
iiation  of  the  Summer  and  the  late  Autumn  of  life, 
that  one  could  have  looked  for  hours  into  that  room 
of  lights  and  shadows,  and  fancied  it  a  dief  crcmivre 
of  one  of  the  old  Dutch  masters.  But  a  soft,  clear 
voice  broke  the  spell,  and  you  almost  started  to  hear 
it,  for  the  two  figures  were  motionless  as  before. 

The  bells  of  some  far-off  churches  were  ringing 
seven.  "  Mother !"  said  the  dreamy  voice,  "  do  you 
not  love  to  hear  that  chime  ?" 

"That  do  I,  Bertha!"  the  mother  replied;  "the 
sound  of  church-bells  has  ever  been  sweet  to  my  ear, 
and  now  it  is  doubly  sweet  and  doubly  dear,  for  it 
seems  like  an  echo  from  the  past  and  calls  the  dead 
— our  dead — back  from  their  graves,  so  that  I  can 
almost  look  into  their  eyes.  I  can  fancy  it,  too,  my 
own  knell,  summoning  me  to  join  those  gone  before.*' 

"  So  that  is  the  tale,  theh,  that  the  music  of '  those 
Evening  Bells*  tells  to  you.  To  me,  now,  it  is  differ- 
ent," added  Bertha  with  a  grave  smile, "  and  although 
they  be  not 

"  '  The  bells  of  Shandon 
That  sound  so  grand  on 
The  pleasant  waters  of  the  River  Lee,' 

heir  tone  is,  to  me,  cheerful   aud   hope-inspiring. 

t  is  joy  to  hear  them  in  this  light  and  at  this  hour, 
with  my  head  on  your  shoulder,  mother  '  Olj 
mother  I  I  am  happy  !" 


lil's-/*' 


■■; 


•3' 


80 


OLD    ANQ    NEW  ;    OR, 


•*4 


r<i:   - 


■ ' ;  i'; 


''Happy,  Bertha?" 

"  Yes,  I  said  happy — happy  in  your  love,  and  the 
exquisite  calm  of  our  present  life.'* 

"  Then  you  relish  it,  Bertha  ?"  asked  the  mother 
very  gently,  but  very  earnestly. 

"  Relish  it  1"  repeated  the  young  lady  raising  her 
head  and  fixing  her  eyes  on  her  raother*s,  "  relish  it ! 
why  should  I  not  ?  If  ever  peace  settles  down  in 
my  heart — I  mean — that  is  to  say — where  is 
peace  so  likely  to  be  found  as  in  the  shadow  of  our 
household  gods !" 

There  was  a  deep  red  spot  on  either  cheek  and  a 
strange  light  in  the  thoughtful  eyes  that  did  not 
escape  the  mother's  searching  glance.  She  shook 
her  head  and  smiled  sadly,  then  suddenly  started  a 
new  subject,  or  tried  to  do  so,  but  Bertha  was  not  dis- 
posed to  quit  the  bells,  so  long,  at  least,  as  their 
sound,  by  distance  mellowed,  fell  upon  her  eai'. 
She  hummed  softly,  as  if  to  herself: 

"  There  was  a  time,  there  was  a  time,  when  I  wjs  young  and 

free, 
And  every  day  the  village-chime  brought  happier  hours  to 

me." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  dearest  mother,"  said  she 
letting  her  head  fall  again  on  her  mother's  shoulder, 
"  it  seems  to  me  that  those  sounds  annihilate  time 
and  space  and  bring  one's  past  life  before  them. 
The  moon  and  yon  evening  star  that  follows  ever 
in  her  train — those  evening  chimes  breaking  at 
intervals  on   the  silence  of  the   hour — how  many 


\"^:'%x 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


81 


ficcnes  do  they  all  together  conjure  up  from  the 
Bilent  waste  of  memory.  Like  the  humorous  author 
of  the  Bells  of  Shandon, 

"  '  I've  heard  bells  chiming 
Full  I  any  a  clime  in 
Tolling  sublime  in  cathedral  shrine.' 

Like  him,  too, 

" '  I've  heard  bells  tolling 
Old  'Adrian's  Mole'  in 
Their  thunder  rolling  from  the  Vatican, 
And  cymbals  glorious 
Swinging  uproarious 
In  the  gorgeous  turrets  of  Notre  Dame.'  " 

The  genial  flow  of  humor  in  these  last  lines  seemed 
to  awaken  a  glow  of  cheerfulness  in  Bertha's  heart, 
and  she  repeated  with  a  gay  laugh :  "  Only  think, 
sweet  mother !  of 

"  ' cymbals  glorious 


Swinging  uproarious 

In  the  gorgeous  turrets  of  Notre  Dame.'  " 

Whether  the  elder  lady  entered  into  the  spirit  of 
poor  Mahony's  humor  or  not,  she  was  fain  to  appear 
as  though  she  did,  glad  to  encourage  her  daughter 
in  a  more  enlivening  train  of  thought.  She  smiled, 
therefore,  and  declared  it  "  very  droll,  indeed  !" 

"Oh!  it  is  more  than  droll,  mother,  it  is  rich! 
There  is  nothing  in  verse  to  equal  it  except  its 
cousLn-german  on  the  father's  side  : 

"  '  The  Groves  of  Blarney  that  are  so  charming 
All  by  the  purling  of  sweet  silent  brooks,' 


1^^  '.Hi*  ,?-<-, 


■  ■    '  1'   '  < 


.A-  ^' 


:>■:* 


J^^rt:-^ 


,    ,'..7..-   *     ..' '  ■  ■  . 

-y     ■  v..  *,!■■,  ■     I      . 


.1 '  111 

'  tit 


82 


OLD   AND   NEW  )    OR, 


■i  ■•• ' 


ii 


-M  "  1 


1 


which  groves   boasted,  amongst   other   embellish* 

ments, 

•' ' statues  gracing 

This  noble  place  in — 
All  heathen  gods 
And  nymphs  so  fair ; 
Bold  Neptune,  Plutarch, 
And  Nicodemus, 
All  standing  naked 
In  the  open  air.'  " 

"  Bless  you,  my  dear  Bertha !"  said  her  mother 
tenderly,  "  it  does  me  good  to  hear  you  talk  so 
cheerfully.  It  reminds  me  of  years  long  past,  when 
my  heart  was  as  yours  is  now,  overflowing  with  the 
fresh  fragrance  of  life's  early  spring.  Oh  !  pleasant 
are  the  days  of  youth." 

"  When  looked  back  upon  through  the  softening 
haze  of  years,*'  added  Bertha,  again  fixing  her  eyes 
on  the  fair  orb  of  night.  "  The  clouds  that  at  times 
obscured  their  lustre  when  they  were  yet  with  us, 
have  passed  av/ay — even  from  our  memory — the 
thorns  that  were  wont  to  lacerate  our  feet  are  no 
more  remembered — the  skyof  youth,  viewed  through 
the  medium  of  vanished  years,  has  no  cloud ;  the 
flowers  we  culled  in  youth  had  no  thorns!  Of 
course  not  I"  and  she  laughed  with  strange  bitter- 
ness. 

"Why,  Bertha!"  said  her  mother  looking  anx- 
iously into  her  eyes,  "  why.  Bertha !  you  talk  as  if 
you,  too,  were  old  !" 

"  And  I  am  old,  mother !  older  than  you  think. 


TASTE    VKR8U3    FASHIOJf. 


8S 


It  seems  to  me  I  have  lived  a  long,  long  time  ! 
Indeed  I  scarce  remember  now  when  youth  pasijed 
away — with  its  false  visions,  and  its  dear  delusions, 
and  all  the  rest  of  its  charms." 

"  When  youth  passed  away  !  why,  my  child,  you 
are  but  in  the  summer  of  life — your  sun  is  still  high 
in  the  firmament,  with  no  cloud  to  dim  his  lustre  !" 

"  Ha !"  muttered  Bertha,  as  a  dark  body  of  vapoi 
suddenly  swept  across  the  firmament,  hiding  the 
face  of  the  silvery  planet  from  her  earnest  gaze. 
"  Ha  !  so  it  is  ! — nature  has  her  clouds,  too  ! — mother, 
look  there!  you  see  clouds  are  never  far  distpnt! 
Even  the  glm-y  we  admired  so  late,  '  the  glory  of 
moon  and  star,'  is  veiled  as  in  a  robe  of  mourning !" 

"  But  it  will  come  again.  Bertha !  it  will  como 
again — see  the  cloud  is  already  passing  away.  So 
will  it  be  with  the  clouds  of  life " 

Bertha  slowly  raised  herself  from  her  knees  and 
stood  looking  down  on  her  mother  with  a  half- 
abstracted,  half-conscious  gaze  ;  "  No,  it  is  not  so  I" 
she  said,  or  rather  murmured  to  herself, 

"  '  For  man  in  this  world  no  spring-time  e'er  returns'— 

never  truer  word  did  poet  speak  1— there  is  no 
renewing  for  the  lorn  heart !"  * 

The  door-bell  suddenly  rang,  and  a  man-servant 
opening  the  room-door,  stood  revealed  in  the  glare 
of  the  gas  from  the  hall  without,  a  square,  squat 
ngure  with  a  large  round  head,  laid,  as  it  were,  on 
his  broad  shoulders. 

"  The  youn^  woman  of  the  dress  she  ask  to  sea 


,<f'' 


•• /■•^^Hi 


,1  ■» 


:' 'ti 


•    v.,.:l'V 


■•u>v 


>.," 


ii 


•i    *'' 
•    Jl      ' 


-1;  r 


■*M\\. 


':r-' 


1„    ,     Ulp, 


ii^; 


J^l^^ 


ll^i'Pif 


84 


or-n  AND  NEW  ;  or 


Madam  or  Miss  !"  said  the  man  in  a  thick  ^utteral 
voice. 

"  Oh !  you  mean  Miss  Waldron  ?"  said  Bertha. 

"  Yah !" 

"  Show  her  in,  Jan  !" 

"  Der  Deyvil !  she  will  break  her  nose." 

"  True,  Jan  !"  said  Bertha,  laughing ;  ''  be  so  good 
as  to  light  the  gas  !" 

From  a  portable  match-safe,  which  he  carried  in 
his  pocket,  Jan  drew  forth  a  match,  but  the  lighting 
of  it  was  so  tedious  an  operation  that  several 
minutes  had  elapsed  before  the  yellow  glare  of  the 
gas  flashed  on  the  heavy  bronze  candelabra  and  the 
equally  heavy  features  of  honest  Jan.  Then  it  took 
another  minute  or  two  to  get  the  lights  to  a  proper 
height. 

'■  You  seem  in  no  hurry,  Jan,"  said  his  young 
lady  quietly ;  "  I  fear  Miss  Waldron  will  be  tired 
waiting.'* 

"  Good  for  her !"  said  Jan  with  a  nod,  which  he, 
doubtless,  meant  to  be  significant.  He  propelled 
himself  towards  the  door,  looking  back  over  his 
shoulder  and  nodding  again. 

The  mother  and  daughter  exchanged  meaning 
glances,  and  both  smiled.  "  Poor  Jan  !"  said  Uie 
old  lady  in  an  under  tone,  after  he  had  disappeared ; 
"  poor  Jan  !  even  he  has  suftered  from  the  prevail- 
ing epidemic — if  not  in  his  person,  at  least  in  his 
pocket." 

"  Yea,  verily,  and  in  his  peace  of  mind !"  said 


.,  1; 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


8i 


Bertha.     *'  To  ray  knowledge  he  has  been  a  miserable 

man  ever  since .     Good  evening,  Miss  Waldronl 

I  am  sorry  you  have  been  kept  waiting." 

Miss  Waldron  made  two  very  low  curtseye, 
having  first  placed  a  large  bundle  she  brought  on  a 
vis-a-vis  near  her.  Then  she  smiled  a  grave,  sedate 
smile.  "  Oh !  I  know  who  to  blame  for  that,  Miss 
Von  Wiegel  ! — you  sc<^  Jan  and  I  are  not  as  good 
friends  as  we  used  to  be,  ever  since — ever  since " 

"  Since  his  spouse  Betty  took  to  the  fashions." 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  going  to  say,  miss  1  only 
I  couldn't  get  my  tongue  right  about  it." 

"  Poor  Betty !"  said  the  young  lady  compas- 
sionately.  "  Have  you  brought  the  dresses,  Misa 
Waldron  ?" 

"  Well,  indeed,  miss  !  I*m  sorry — that  '?>,  T  regret 
to  say,  I  have  only  your  mother  s  donc; — I  was  so 
busy- 


11 


What !    ex'5uses 


agam 


»>» 


said    Bertha,  with   a 


smile  which  encouraged  the  dressmaker  to  go  on. 

"  God  bl'^88  you,  miss  !"  broke  involuntarily  from 
her  iipS;  '  it's  you  that  never  said  a  hard  word  to 
mri  a''  the  times  I  ever  disappointed  you  !'* 

"  And  that  was  pretty  often,  you  must  admit ! 
Well !  I  didn't  want  it  very  particularly  at  this 
time " 

"Sure  I  knew  that,  miss!  I  kno  >:  you  never 
want  your  dresses  very  badly,  and  besides,  I  always 
take  a  liberty  with  you  and  the  old  mAdatn 
that    I     wouldn't     take,     or    daren't    take,       itl? 


.'•  *. 


■l^lliKr'  ^'»"' 


w. 


4 


86 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OK, 


i.i<^.:*'-' 


V. 


i¥'r^':'' 


!-^;'^-H^: 


:4: 
J- 


...   ..  t 


M 


4. 


■/i.. 


fashicnadle  ladies,  such  as  are  going  now-a-days . 
God  knows  it's  the  hard  earned  money  one  makes 
trying  to  humor  them,  and  make — L,nd  make " 

"Make  what?"  asked  the  younger  lady,  stili 
smiling. 

"  Why,  *  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear' — begging 
yoar  pardon,  ladies." 

"  Fie !  fie !  Miss  Waldron,"  said  the  old  lady, 
though  she  could  not  help  smiling,  too — "  you  should 
not  be  so  hard  on  the  fashionable  ladies  who  ai*e, 
of  course,  your  best  customers.  Were  the  ladies 
of  New  York  all  like  my  daughter  and  me " 

*'I  wish  to  God  they  were,  madam!"  exclaimed 
the  dressmaker  with  honest  warmth. 

•*  My  mother  means  in  regard  to  dress,  I  believe  I" 

*'  I  know  what  she  means,  miss !  and  it's  what  1 
mean,  too !  dear  only  knows  but  I'm  sick  enough 
of  the  fashions, and  the  nonsense  and  extravagance 
I  see  wherever  I  go  almost,  and  the  airs  people  put  on 
to  hide  their  own  ignorance — but  then,  you  know, 
ladies  !  1  couldn't  say  that  everywhere — a  body  must 
live  come  what  may,  and  it  wouldn't  do  for  a  dress 
maker " 

"  A  rnodiste  /"  suggested  Bertha  slily. 

"  You're  a  great  rogue,  Miss  Von  W^iegel !  that's 
what  you  are !"  said  the  dressmaker  laughing — at 
least  as  near  laughing  as  she  could  venture  to  do  in 
that  presence.  "  Will  it  please  you,  madam !  to  lei 
me  fit  on  your  dress  ?  I  can  go  up  stairs  and  wail 
tiiii  you  (x>me !" 


;.#• 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


li 


"  It  is  quite  uimecessaiy,  Waldron  !"  said  tha 
stately  old  lady  condescendingly,  "ray  daughter 
will  try  it  on  after  we  retire,  and  we  can  let  you 
know  how  it  fits  when  you  come  with  her  dress." 

"Whenever  that  may  be,"  added  her  daughter; 
but  changing  her  tone  she  said  with  assumed  gravity: 
*'  1^0  w,  mind,  mademoiselle  la  mocliste !  no  moro  ex- 
cuses, if  you  value  ray  favor!" 

"  Never  fear,  miss  !  n jver  fear ! — now  that  I'vfl 
got  the  moire  antiques  off  my  hands." 

"  What  inoire  antiques  V 

"  Oh  1  a  dozen  or  so  I  had  in  hands,  besides  satins, 
brocades,  gros  de  Naples,  satin  Turques,  tarltons, 
gauzes  and  Lord  knows  what — all  for  '■Lil  Smithes 
party  P  " 

"  Lil  Smith's  party  1  and  pray  who  is  Lil  Smith  ?'* 

''  Well !  to  tell  the  truth.  Miss  Von  Wiegel !" 
replied  the  dress-maker  with  her  serious  smile,  "  I 
know  more  about  her  party  than  I  do  about  herself. 
I  think  her  father  keeps  a  blacksmith's  shop  some- 
where down  town,  but,  of  course,  the  family  lives 
uf)  town — ever  so  far  up." 

"  And  so  they  were  giving  a  party  lately  ?" 

"  A  party  !  oh  dear  yes.  miss !  quite  a  party,  I  as- 
dure  you  !  I've  been  working  for  it,  myself,  and  the 
girls — I  keep  four^  you  know — this  last  month  or 
five  weeks.  I  guess  I  made  a  matter  of  a  hundred 
dollars  by  it.  But,  dear  me  :  ladies,  there's  moro 
bother — I  mean  more  trouble,  with  such  people  than 
their  work  is  worth.     Yofi  can  have  no  idea  of  iba 


mm 


>  ■■  J* 


mil!! 


1^ 


*i< 


88 


OLD    AND    XE"W  ;    OR, 


'■I '. 


5,: 


% 


M)i 


^^wipp 


\Ml 


way  they're  wrapt  up  in  dress,  and  the  misery 
they're  in  if  they  see  any  one  of  their  acquaintances 
— they  have  no  friends — a  little  tiner  rigged  out 
than  themselves.  And  as  sure  as  one  is  seen  in 
a  new  dress — especially  if  it's  anything  past  the  com- 
mon, all  the  rest  are  on  the  alert  and  never  know 
rest  or  peace  till  they  get  one  like  it — or  better,  If 
they  can." 

"  Well !  I  must  say,"  observed  the  young  lady 
very  gently,  "  that  I  cannot  understand  such  a  state 
of  affairs,  but  do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  whole 
city  is  bitten  with  this  foolish  mania  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,  miss ! — it's  like  a  plague  it's  got  to 
be,  and  I  tell  you  it  ruins  more  families  and  makea 
more  misery  than  any  plague.  What's  worst  of  all, 
it  brings  tens  of  thousands  of  poor  unfortunate  girla 
to  destruction  that  might  be  virtuous  and  honest  if 
it  wasn't  for  it.  It  does  as  much  mischief  as  rum  or 
gin — indeed,  indeed  it  does  !'* 

*'  Why,  Waldron  !"  said  the  old  lady  raising  her- 
self in  her  chair,  "  you  seem  to  forget  that  you  make 
your  living  by  this  same  folly  !" 

"  If  it  please  you,  madam  !  I  do  not  forget,"  said 
the  really  intelligent  and  right-minded  modiste  with 
mournful  solemnity  :  "  I  know  I  live  by  it,  and  aa 
there  are  plenty  to  do  it  if  I  don't,  I'm  glad  to  have 
it  for  a  means  of  living.  If  the  love  of  dress — one 
might  call  it  the  worship  of  dress — could  be  confined 
to  the  rich  it  wouldn't  be  half  so  bad,  and,  perhaps, 
I'd  never  say  a  word  against  it,  but  when  it  gets  iii 


i 
I 

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TASTK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


Sf 


lid 
ith 

jvo 

liiti 
id 

1)8, 


among  the  workiug-classes,  and  the  poor,  it's  then 
it  does  the  harm,  and  too  often  brings  want  and 
hardship,  and  sin  and  shame  with  it.  Oh !  if  you 
only  knew  the  ruin  it  causes  both  to  body  and  soul 
amongst  the  poor  working  girls  of  this  one  city — as 
well  as  I  do — you  wouldn't  wonder  to  hear  me  speak 
as  I  do  ! — of  course  I  wouldn't  speak  so  only  I  know 
I'm  in  the  presence  of  real  ladies  and  good  Cliris 
tiaus,  too,  that  care  nothing  about  dress  only  just  to 
keep  themselves  covered  decently^  a  body  might 
say!" 

"  In  the  spirit  of  our  mother  Eve  when  the  com- 
menced dressmaking,"  said  Bertha  archly. 

"  Ah  ha,  miss !  there  you  have  me  again ;"  and 
Miss  Waldron,  in  a  pleasant  little  excitement,  has- 
tened to  apologize  for  having  made  so  free  as  to 
j,-abble  away  before  two  such  ladies,  then  taking  up 
the  bundle  desired  to  know  if  she  would  leave  it 
up  stairs  before  she  went  away. 

*'  Der  deyvil !  no,  you  shan't !"  said  a  grumbling 
voice  from  behind  a  large  old-fashioned  Indian 
screen  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  and  Jan, 
shuffling  forward  as  fast  as  his  heavy  bulk  would 
permit,  laid  hold  of  the  bundle.  "  No,  you  shan't," 
said  he,  "I  go  up  myself  mit  it.  You  go  'bout  your 
business  way  from  Betty.  No  more  silk  dresses — 
I  tell  you  dat  nmv  /" 

And  the  old  servitor  nodded  emphatically  at  the 
obnoxious  modiste.  The  ladies  looked  at  each  other 
and  smiled. 


liii.^' 


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OI-D    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  But  pray,  Jan !"  said  his  young  mistress,  "  ho^ 
came  you  in  the  room  ?" 

Jan  looked  sheepish  enough  as  he  stammered  out 
by  way  of  apology:  "Dat  ole  Shinese  fellow  dat  ole 
Madam  tell  me  to  fix  up  dis  morning- " 

"Hush — sh--sh!"  said  Bertha  with  an  authorita* 
live  gesture,  "you  terrible  old  man!  have  I  not  told 
you  before  that  that  statue  represents  a  ChriBtian 
missionary  in  Japan?" 

"  Yah  !  well  him  — de  Chrishin  mishin  man — I 
was — I  was " 

Miss  Waldron  could  hardly  heep  her  countenance, 
the  old  lady  turned  her  face  towards  the  fire,  and 
Bertha,  assuming  a  very  stern  look,  said : 

"  Never  mind  what  you  were  doing  to  the  Chris- 
tian missionary,  but  show  Miss  Waldrcn  out,  and 
mind,  Jan  !"  holding  up  her  finger,  "  mind,  no  saucy 
talk  on  the  way  !'* 

Miss  Waldron  made  the  same  profound  reve- 
rence as  on  entering,  and  retired,  promising  to 
bring  Miss  Von  Wiegel's  dress  on  an  early  day  of 
the  following  week. 

The  early  tea  of  the  small  family  was  long  over 
and  whilst  Jan  proceeded  to  close  the  shutters,  and 
stir  the  fire,  and  place  the  chess-table  in  front  of  the 
old  Madam's  chair,  the  ladies  conversed  in  French 
on  the  prevailing  extravagance  in  dress,  following 
up  the  train  of  thought  suggested  by  Miss  Wal- 
dron*s  sensible  remarks. 

"  It  fs  something  very  strange,"  said  Bertha,  as  shfl 


,        f': 


'■w 


t  ■ 


TASTF,  VERSUS  FASHION. 


91 


turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  large  volume  before 
mentionerl — it  was  an  old  German  "  Lives  of  the 
Saints,"  published  at  Munich.  "  It  is  something 
very  strange  that  in  none  of  the  old  European  capi- 
tals— not  even  excepting  Paris — does  this  vanity  of 
dress  and  show  exercise  so  potent  an  influence  or 
engross  so  much  attention  as  it  does  here  in  this 
comparatively  new  city." 

"  And  yet  it  is  not  so  very  strange,  my  dear,  when 
you  come  to  think  of  it,"  replied  her  mother.  "  It 
is  precisely  because  of  their  newness  that  New  York 
and  some  other  American  cities  are  so  much  given 
to  the  frivolities  of  fashion.  It  is  the  natural  eifect 
of  the  levelling  institutions  of  the  country.  In  new 
countries  like  this  where  the  lines  of  distinction  be- 
tween the  different  classes  of  society  are  not  so 
clearly  defined,  the  people — never  much  given  to 
reflection — fall  into  the  very  natural  but  very  absurd 
error  of  supposing  that  fine  dress,  fine  ^louses  and 
fine  furniture  will  command  that  distinction  which 
in  older  countries  and  a  more  refined  state  of  societ) 
belongs  only  to  birth,  social  position,  cultivation  of 
taste  and  refinement  of  manners.  The  great  ma- 
jority of  the  people  in  this  part  of  the  New  World 
have  drifted  hither  from  old  Europe  in  search  of  a 
bare  living,  denied  them  at  home — being  here,  they 
very  often  succeed  in  making  not  only  a  living  but 
a  fortune.'* 

'*  And  having  made  the  fortune  they  must  lead 


.   5 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


the  fashions  and  astonish  others  who  are  not  so  luckj 
as  themselves." 

"  Precisely,  my  dear  ! — they  know  of  no  other 
way  to  distinguish  themselves.  So  the  malaria 
generated  in  the  hot-bed  of  folly  in  what  is  face- 
tiously called  *  good  society'  speedily  infects  ever 
class  in  the  community  till  it  becomes  the  plague 
our  good  modiste  not  unaptly  designates  it.  From 
the  parlor  it  spreads  to  the  kitchen,  thence  to  the 
workshop,  and  so  on  through  the  whole  range  of 
states  and  callings." 

The  chess-men  were  now  arranged  on  the  board 
in  battle-array,  and  the  mischievous  pranks  of  dame 
Fashion  were  soon  forgotten  in  the  quiet  excitement 
of  the  noble  gapo^. 


'  ■    -A. 
.-....>        -if 

'  •  ■  , ,  'ft' 


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?H^ 


TASIK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


)3 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  FASHIONABLE  WEDDING  WITH    OTHER    MATTERS    THERETO 

APPERTAINING. 

The  Gallaghers  had  their  new  house  completed 
and  moved  into  it  in  due  form.  The  Fogartys  had 
been  some  two  or  three  months  settled  in  theirs. 
Great  doings  followed  these  auspicious  events. 
*'  House-warmings"  were,  of  course,  given,  and  a 
series  of  grand  entertainments  "  came  off"  by  way 
of  return.  The  fashionable  circle  in  which  the  Gal- 
laghers and  Fogartys  made  their  evolutions  was 
kept  in  a  delightful  state  of  commotion  that  whole 
winter,  and  no  less  than  eight  matches  came  off  dur- 
ing and  immediately  after  the  festivities.  Amongst 
these  vas  one  which  united  the  rivju  houses  of  Gal- 
lagher and  Fogarty  just  as  a  similarly  auspicious 
event  united  the  houses  of  York  and  Lancaster. 
Would  that  v/e  could  say  the  union  of  Sam  Fogarty, 
the  eldest  hope  of  his  house,  w^ith  Eliza  the  matronly 
head  of  the  six  Miss  Gallaghers,  had,  indeed,  united 
the  rival  factions,  and  for  ever  terminated  the  strife 
of  jealousy.  But,  alas  1  the  strife  of  Fashion  is  no 
less  bitter  than  the  strife  of  blood,  and  at  times  its 
effects  Qi'e  more  enduring.  The  two  families  met, 
it  would  seem  as  one,  on  the  joyous  occasion — the 
calumet  was  smoked  around  the  council-fire  where 


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OLD    AND    NEW  )    OR, 


the  elders  came  together  to  arrange  preliminaries^ 
and  the  hatchet  was  buried  tor  ever  and  a  day. 
Tom  Gallagher  and  his  wife  were  well  pleased  to 
get  Eliza  off  their  hands  just  when  she  was  verging 
on  "  the  upper  shelf"  of  maidenhood,  and  as  Sara 
was  known  to  be  of  business  habits,  and  had  just 
been  taken  into  partnership  by  his  father,  the  pros- 
pects were  most  favorable.  The  Fogartys,  on  the 
other  hand,  were  just  as  well  satisfied,  seeing  that 
although  Tom  did  not  feel  it  convenient  to  give 
Eliza  anything  in  the  shape  of  a  dower,  he  went 
shares  in  fitting  up  a  fine  house  for  the  young  cou- 
ple, and  promised  something  handsome  after  his  death 
— which  event  was  a  dim  perspective,  for  Tom  had 
apparently  as  good  a  hold  on  life  as  either  of  the  con- 
tracting parties. 

So  the  course  of  true  love  did  run  smooth  on  this 
occasion — perhaps  owing  to  its  greater  depth.  Tt 
had  but  a  short  way  to  run,  however,  for  about  sis 
weeks  after  Sam  had  whispered  the  first  "  so/t 
thing"  into  Eliza's  "  well-pleased  ear,"  he  bolaly 
and  resolutely  "  popped  the  question,"  and  in  two 
weeks  after  bagged  his  game — was  blessed  with  the 
hand  (and  probabiy  the  heart)  of  the  fair  Eliza,  and 
like  the  baron  that  "  dazzled  the  eyes  andbewilder'd 
the  brain"  of  the  faithless  and  "  fair  Imogene,"  he 
iu  blissful  triumph  bore  her  from  the  pateruaJ  roof, 
**  And  carried  her  home  as  his  bride." 

The  carrying  home,  however,  was  a  rather  more 
circuitous  affair  than  the  worthy  ancestors  of  thp 


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TASTE    VERSUS    FASHK  N'. 


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happy  couple  could  at  all  have  realized  in  tW/  day. 
Some  fifteen  hundred  miles  of  the  American  Conti' 
nent — perhaps  we  might  say  two  thousand — had  to 
be  steamed  over  by  land  and  water  before  t)\e  *Sa- 
muel  C.  Fogarty,  Esq.,  whose  raari-iage  with  Eliza^ 
eldest  daughter  of  T,  Gallagher,  Esq.,  the  city  papers 
had  recorded  in  such  flourishing  style,  arrived  with 
his  fair  yoke-fellow  at  the  door  of  the  Gallagher 
mansion  one  dreary  wet  evening  in  early  Spring 
from  the  Hudson  lliver  liailroad  depot  in  Cham- 
bers street. 

On  the  day  of  the  wedding  a  large  patty  of  the 
friends  and  relatives  assembled  by  previoi^s  invita- 
tion to  witness  the  ceremony  in  — —  street  Church 
— which  mode  of  expression  New  York  Fashion 
substitutes  for  the  dedicatory  name  of  the  Church. 
A  sumptuous  breakfast  awaited  the  return  of  the 
new-married  couple,  with  their  four  bridesmaids 
and  as  many  groomsmen  (or  standers-up  witi>  the 
groom  rather) — and  a  dozen  or  so  of  "  favored 
guests."  At  the  close  of  their  splendid  repast, 
adorned  and  appetized  with  all  the  art  and  Pkill 
which  a  fashionable  restaurateur  and  an  equiiUy  fash- 
ionable confectioner  could  bring  to  bear  on  the 
viandes,  pates,  confitures  and  all  the  rest,  the  happy 
couple  (with  the  two  Miss  Gallaghers  next  in  se- 
niority to  Eliza)  started  on  a  tour  to  Niagara  Falls, 
thence  by  the  lower  lakes  to  Toronto  and  Kings- 
ton, thence  by  the  St.  Lawrence  and  its  Thousand 
ales  and  its  surging  Kapids  to  Montreal  and  Que- 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


bee,  thence  by  Lake  Cbamplain  and  the  HudsoQ 
River  Railroad  back  to  New  Y  )rk  and  "  the  old 
house  at  home,"  where  a  family-party  was  assem- 
bled to  meet  them,  as  their  near  approach  had  been 
duly  transmitted  "  over  the  wires." 

It  was  Sam's  boast  ever  after  that  his  wedding- 
tour  had  cost  him  a  matter  of  a  thousand  dollars 
— not  altogether  for  the  travelling  expenses  but,  of 
course,  the  girls — meaning  his  bride  and  her  two 
sisters — had  so  many  knick-knacks  to  buy  in  the 
various  cities  along  the  route  that  it  took  that,  at 
least,  to  clear  him  of  the  tour. 

On  the  day  when  the  happy  couple  started  at  once 
on  their  honeymoon  and  their  tour,  Henry  Hackett 
was  holding  a  colloquy  over  the  counter  with  a 
smart  middle-aged  woman  of  that  description  which 
the  Scotch  Lowlanders  would  call  "  douce"  and  we 
neat  and  comely.  She  had  got  through  with  her 
business  in  the  store,  merely  giving  an  order,  and 
was  now  engaged  in  a  sociable  chat  with  the  shop- 
keeper. 

"  So  you  tell  me  you  weren't  at  the  wedding,  Mr. 
Hackett?" 

"  Is  it  me,  Betty  ?  oh !  then,  indeed,  I  wasn't — we 
all  got  an  invitation  to  go  to  the  Church  in  the  morn- 
ing, but  that  was  all.  The  girls  went  because  they 
wanted  to  see  how  the  bride  and  bridesmaids  looked 
and  what  they  wore — as  for  Michael  anci  myself  you 
may  be  sure  we  didn't  bother  ourselves  going  next 
or  nigh  them.     We  knew  well  enough  they  didn't 


i.       1  i 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


«t 


want  us  there,  so  we  took  precious  good  care  not  to 
liiouble  them." 

"  You  done  just  what  you  ought  to  do,  Mr.  HaO" 
kett  ?"  said  Betty  with  more  emphasis  than  the  oc- 
casion seemed  to  require  ^  "  it's  too  good  for  them 
you*d  be,  the  best  day  ever  they'll  see — the  coi.  ^eit 
of  them  people  and  the  airs  they  put  on  them  is 
past  the  common !  Not  to  ask  you — and  you  at 
the  door  with  them !  Och,  then,  Henry !"  drawing 
a  step  nearer  and  throwing  more  feeling  into  her 
voice,  "  how  different  it  was  at  home  when  a  yomig 
couple  went  together !" 

"  You  may  well  say  that,  Betty  Haucher !"  replied 
Henry  with  an  unobtrusive  sigh ;  "  many  a  good  wed- 
ding I  was  at  in  my  early  days  at  home  in  Ireland 
where  there  was  full  and  plenty  for  all  comers  and 
a  cheerful  welcome  into  the  bargain — where  all  that 
came  were  friends  and  well-wishers  and  brought  joy 
and  happiness  with  them  to  the  feast.  It  isn't  to  have 
their  comether  on  what  this  one  or  that  one  wore,  or 
to  see  who'd  make  the  greatest  show — no — no — no  1 
they  went  there  because  they  knew  they  were  wel- 
come, imd  wanted  to  help  up  the  fun  and  the  harm- 
less merriment,  and  to  show  their  good  wish  to  the 
bride  and  groom.  The  only  rivalry  betwixt  them 
was  to  see  who'd  hold  out  the  longest  when  they 
got  footing  it  away  in  the  evening,  or  maybe 
who'd  get  the  most  countenance  fiom  his  reverenca 
at  the  head  of  the  dinner-table,  where  he  sat  in 
state  with  the  bride  on  one  side  and  the  groom 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


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f  n  the  other.  And  then  the  hauling-home  a  week 
tir  two  after,  and  the  horsemen  all  riding  for  the 
(ottle  ! — oh,  Betty  !  Betty  !  them  were  something 
Hke  weddings !  There  were  no  silks,  or  satins,  or 
jewelry,  or  frizzled  locks — no  receptions  or  wed 
ding-towers,  but  there  was  peace,  plenty  and  con- 
tentment— and  that's  what  there  isn't  at  your 
fa&hionahle  weddings  here,  for  under  all  them  fine 
dresses  there's  a  fire  of  one  kind  or  another  scorch- 
ing every  heart — and,  everything  is  cold  and  grand 
n-id  deceitful  /" 

"  Dear  knows  an'  it's  true  for  you,"  said  Betty 
wiping  a  tear  from  her  eye ;  "  the  people  at  homo 
had  their  heart  in  everything  of  the  kind — whether  it 
was  wedding  or  chriojcning,  or  hauling-home  or 
what  it  was;  but  sure  there  can't  be  much  heart  in 
such  things  here  where  all's  for  show,  and  every 
one*s  trouble  is  to  cut  a  greater  dash  than  their 
neighbors.  Still  I'm  not  sayin,'  Henry !  but  I  like  a 
bit  of  dress  as  well  as  another,  and  would  wish,  if  I 
could  come  at  it,  to  turn  out  decently  myself  on  a 
Sunday  when  I  go  to  Church — ^I  got  a  new  silk 
dress,  as  elegant  a  one  as  you*d  see,  about  a  month 
ago,  but  if  I  didn't  dear  buy  it  my  name's  not  Betty 
Haucher  !'* 

"Why,  how  was  that,  Betty?"  asked  Henry 
Hackett  trying  to  suppress  a  smile. 

"  Oh !  you  see  our  ladies  never  want  to  see  the 
likes  of  me  wear  silk  at  all — they  have  such  odd 
notions  about  dress,  you  never  seen  anything  likt 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


99 


it — aiifl  then  Jan  was  outrageous  in  a  manner  to  see 
me  layin*  out  the  money,  though  I'm  sure  it  was  my 
own  hard  earning.  How-and-ever  he  has  a  black  lace 
on  him  ever  since  and  will  hardly  open  his  lips  to  me. 
So  between  my  old  man's  sulky  face  and  the  smiles 
and  hints  of  the  old  Madam  and  Miss  Bertha  I  tell 
you  I've  got  the  worth  of  it — I  have  so  !'* 

"  Now  that  you  speak  of  your  ladies,"  said  Henry 
with  renewed  attention — "and  its  Indies  you  may 
call  them — are  they  Germans,  or  Americans,  or 
what  ?" 

"  Americans  ? — not  they,  indeed  !  Guess  again, 
now,*'  said  Betty,  laughing. 

Henry  half  closed  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  very 
shrewdly.  "  Well !  what  can  I  guess  ?  They  can*t 
be  Irish — that's  plain '* 

"  Is  it,  indeed  ?" 

"  Why.  of  course  it  is.  Sure  there  never  was  such 
a  name  as  Von  Wiegel  in  Ireland  ?'* 

"  Like  enough ;  but  then  there  was  in  the  Rhine 
country,  wherever  that  is — and  a  grand  old  name  it 
eeems  it  is — so  our  Jan  tells  me,  and  you  know  he 
comes  from  there  himself ^" 

"  The  Rhine  country  ! — where's  this  that  is  ?  I 
must  ask  Michael — he's  a  great  hand  at  ge-o-gra  - 
phy " 

Michael  being  summoned  to  the  council-board — 
the  counter,  namely — was  not  long  in  furnishing  the 
desired  information,  which  was  promptly  caught 
hold  of  by  his  father ; 


m 


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M"! 


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Vi'; 


n 


mr  ■•. 


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100 


OLE    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


'.I 


;:;^)-rf. 


«  - 


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!  r 


!•** 


1  ,.,?1-  *l 


'"■i,     '■', 

^ 

1  , 

T        i 

■   ' 

V'^ 

"  Why,  then,  to  be  sure  it  is  Jarmany ;  what  came 
over  me  that  I  forgot  it — and  so,  Betty  !  your  ladiei 
are  Dutch " 

"  No,  they're  iwt  Dutch,"  said  Betty  gruffly,  her 
untutored  ear  rejecting  the  \^ord,  proba,bly  on  &c« 
count  of  certain  associations  coiinected  with  it. 

"  If  they're  from  the  Rhine  country,"  said  the 
erudite  Michael,  "  they're  not  Dutohj  father ! — 
they're  Germans !" 

"  Poh !  nonsense,  man !  it's  all  the  same " 

"  Why,  no,  father !  it  isn't  the  same,  begging  youi 
pardon " 

"  And  V,  hat's  the  difference,  Michael  ?"  asked  thf 
father  with  seeming  impatience,  but  real  satisfac- 
tion, being  well  pleased  to  draw  out  the  full  extent 
of  his  son's  geographical  knowledge  before  his  old 
acquaintance,  Betty  Connelly,  who  was  from  the 
door  with  him  at  home. 

"  Why  the  difference  isn't  much,  father !"  said 
Michael  with  that  dry  humor  whicii  was  peculiar  to 
him,  "  only  that  the  Dutch  come  from  Holland  and 
the  Germans  from  Germany — that's  all." 

Harry  looked  at  Betty,  as  much  as  to  say  :  "  Isn't 
he  a  knowledgeable  chap  for  his  age  ?"  and  Betty 
looked  at  Harry  as  much  as  to  say :  "  I  protest 
he  is !" 

"  Well !  well !"  said  Harry  aloud,  "  that'll  do— 
you  may  go  back  to  yoar  work,  Michael !"  Michael 
had  been  weighing  and  making  up  tiny  parcels  of 
tea,  sugar,  <fec.,  Ac,  to  have  ready  when  required 


TA3TK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


101 


f{»r  the  greater  dispatch  of  business. 

"  And  so,  Betty  !  your  ladies  are  Dutch — I  mean 
Jarman  ?" 

"  One  of  them  is  half  Jarman,  the  other  whole 
Irish,"  answered  Betty  with  a  certain  degree  of 
pride  that  was  not  unnatural  under  the  circumstan- 
ces, and  also  with  a  certain  emphasis,  as  though  she 
calculated  on  giving  her  "  tawny^''  an  agreeable  sur- 
prise. 

"  Irish  !  do  you  tell  me  so  ?" 

"Indeed,  then,  I  do,  Mr.  Hackett !  the  old  Madam 
is  Irish — and  Irish  to  the  back-bone,  for  all  she 
comes  of  some  high-up  Prodestan  family — black 
Prodestans  all  belongin'  to  her — and  herself  was 
one,  too,  till  long  after  she  married  the  old  Ritter. 
'i'bey  say  he  was  a  mighty  good  man,  and  a  noble 
fine  Catholic.*'   . 

"  And  where  did  he  fall  in  with  the  old  lady  ?" 

"  Ah  !  she  was  a  young  lady  then — and  a  beautiful 
young  lady  she  must  have  oeen !  He  met  her  at 
home  in  Ireland,  just  at  her  father's  castle,  for,  you 
see,  the  Bitter  was  a  fine  young  gentleman  theD, 
too,  and  was  on  his  travels,  and  bein'  in  Ireland  he 
went  to  see  this  old  castle  where  the  Madam  waa 
brought  up — it  was  a  great  sight,  Jan  says,  an'  all 
the  grand  quality  from  abroad  used  to  go  to  have  a 
look  at  it  when  they'd  be  in  that  part  of  the  country. 
So  that's  the  way  they  fell  in  together." 

"  But  how  did  the  family  come  to  be  here  P*^  asked 
Michael  who  had  managed  to  keep  within  heariiig. 


'm 


ml 


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'|k-    ■ 


\,    J--    :      I. 
',.  #'    J- 


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l''"'"' 

^:''.. 

■  * ,  > ' 


^ 

^\ 

J 

."•! 

'   ^   ; 

, 

«      . 

■  C'^ 

102 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OTt 


for  there  was  something  in  this  story — broken  and 
fragmentary  as  it  was — that  struck  a  chord  in 
Michael's  heart,  which  organ  contained,  amongst 
other  component  parts,  a  certain  quantum  of 
romance,  all  the  stronger,  perhaps,  for  being  pent 
up  in  a  small  corner  and  necessarily  concealed  from 
the  outer  world.  "  How  did  the  Von  Wiegels  come 
to  be  in  New  York?" 

"  Why,  Michael !"  said  his  father,  "  did  you  nevet 
hear  of  the  Von  Wiegels  before  now  ?" 

"  Well  no,  except  seeing  the  name  on  our  own 
books,  since  Betty  got  us  the  custom  of  the  family." 

"  But,  you  booby  !  aren't  the  Von  Wiegels  one 
of  the  oldest  Dutch  familici^— 


?> 


"  Jarman,  Mr.  Hackett !"  put  in  Betty. 

"  Well !  well !  it's  always  Dutch  /  heard  them 
called — old  Dutch — but  whatever  they  are,  Dutch  or 
Jarman,  I've  heard  of  them  this  many  a  year  as 
one  of  the  first  families  here,  and  the  oldest.'* 

"  But  my  old  master — the  Ritter — Heaven  rest 
his  soul!  wasn't  here  till  about  ten  years  agone, 
when  he  fell  into  all  the  Von  Wiegel  property  in 
New  York,  on  the  death  of  his  brother  that  died 
onmarried." 

"  And  was  your  young  lady  brought  up  here  ?" 

"  Oh  dear  no,  Mr.  Hackett !  she  was  brought  up 
n  Jarmany  and  in  Ireland — she  was  most  of  hef 
ame  in  Ireland,  though,  with  her  mother's  people- 
it  seems  her  grandmother  and  one  of  her  aunts  had 
turned  Catholic — for  she  didn't  care  to  come  out  to 


■;';i:.fi" 


Taste  versus  fashiov. 


103 


America  when  the  old  lady  and  gentleman  came, 
and  they  were  so  wrapped  up  in  her,  you  see,  that 
they  wouldn't  cross  her,  so,  to  please  her,  they  let 
her  stay  on  and  on  with  her  grandmother  and  hei 
Aunts  and  uncles,  at  the  old  castle  in  Ireland,  until 
kIic  came  out  post-haste  herself  when  she  got  word 
of  her  father  being  in  bad  health.  But,  Lord  bless 
nie !  here  I  am  clattering  away,  and  they'll  be  won- 
dering at  home  what  in  the  world  kept  me  so  long 
— Jan  will  have  my  life,  for  he  wants  to  go  down 
town  on  some  business  for  the  old  mistress.  God 
be  with  ye,  Mr.  Hackett !  till  I  see  you  again,  and 
mind  you  don't  forget  to  send  the  things  as  soon  as 
you  can !" 

The  Miss  Hacketts  were  not  so  philosophical  as 
their  father  with  regard  to  the  slight  put  upon  them 
by  the  Gallaghers.  They  had  gone  to  some  expense 
to  provide  suitable  dresses  for  the  grand  party  that 
was  to  follow  the  reception,  counting  on  an  invita- 
tion which  they  had  every  reason  to  expect,  seeing 
that  they  had  been  invited  to  witness  the  ceremony. 
The  shock  was  dreadful,  then,  when  after  two  weeks 
of  all  but  certain  expectation  they  found  themselves 
disappointed.  The  bridal  party  returned,  and  pre- 
parations were  set  on  foot  for  "the  party."  A 
week  or  two  after,  the  grand  reception  took  place, 
followed  by  a  ball  and  supper  for  the  elite — but, 
glas!  the  miss  Hacketts  were  consigned  to  dull 
oblivion — no  invitation  had  been  sent  them,  and 
they  were  reduced  to  the  dire  necessity  of  staying 


,"<    .....  , 


Wir* 


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: 

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i 

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i 

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« ,         , 

j! 

;..:  M, 

r 

* 

t* 

rv 
I'm 

I 

• 

104 


OLD    AND    KEW  ;    OR, 


at  home  all  that  weary  day,  and  watching  from  their 
old  station  behind  the  blinds  the  current  and 
counter-current  of  Fashion  sweeping  in  and  out  of 
No.  66  through  the  stately  door  which  lay  invitingly 
open — not  so  much,  we  suppose,  in  remembrance 
of  the  penalty  imposed  by  that  strong-minded  prin- 
cess, Granu  Wail  of  happy  memory,  on  the  in- 
hospitable Barons  of  Howth,  for  having  their  doors 
closed  at  meal-time,  as  to  expedite  the  labor  of 
ushering  the  guests  in  and  out,  which  that  day  de- 
volved on  an  extremely  dandified  colored  gentleman 
in  white  kids. 

Truly  it  was  a  hard  trial  for  the  patience  of  the 
Miss  Hacketts  to  witnesss  so  imposing  a  display  of 
Fashion  and  magnificence  from  which  they  were 
cruelly  debarred.  As  carriage  after  carriage  rolled 
up— most  of  them  from  "  the  stands,"  it  is  true,  but 
then  our  New  York  hacks  are  quite  different  from 
those  of  poor  "  doited"  old  Europe — they  are  really 
splendid  affairs,  equally  fit  to  grace  a  fashionable 
wedding  and  a  fashionable  funeral — and  each  depo- 
sited its  load  of  gents,  "  puffed,  powdered  and 
shaved,"  and  ladies  in  full  dress,  with  opera- cape 
on  back  and  satin  slippers  on  feet,  heads  that  might 
liave  ornamented  barbers'  windows,  they  were  such 
perfect  miracles  of  the/n  seur^s  art — and  as  much  gold 
on  necks,  bosoms,  wrists  and  fingers  as  would  have 
stocked  a  nice  little  store  in  Broadway  for  a  jeweller 
commencing  trade — as  al!  this  vision  of  glory  passed 
before  the  eyes  of  the  lone  watchers  at  the  window 


,«,.■ 


% 


;5-«!< 


TA3TK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


105 


of  tho  shabby  two-story  brick,  and  they  recognized 
one  after  another  of  their  former  schoolmates  and 
present  (occasional)  companions,  oh !  it  was  gall  and 
wormwood — a  pretty  hard  dose  to  swallow  !  so 
hard,  indeed,  that  it  brought  the  tears  to  the  six 
fair  eyes  of  the  three  disconsolate  Miss  Hacketts. 

They  had  no  resource — none  in  the  wide  world — > 
but  to  imitate  the  fox  in  the  fable  and  cry  "  sour 
grapes  !"  and  "  sour  gi-apes  !"  they  did  cry  with  a 
vengeance.  They  all  at  once  made  the  astonishing 
discovery  that  if  the  Gallaghers  Imd  asked  them  they 
wouldn't  have  gone.  Not  they,  indeed !  Lil  Smith's 
pai'ty  was  everything  fine  compared  to  this  odious 
reception,  <fcc.  Why  really  it  was  very  lucky  they 
(the  Miss  Hacketts)  were  not  invited,  for  it  would 
have  only  placed  them  under  the  rather  disagreeable 
necessity  of  refusing,  and  that  would  have  been  a 
mortal  offence  I  There  was  little  philosophy  and 
less  religion  in  the  resignation  "  put  on  for  the 
nonce,"  but  the  very  assumption  of  it,  and  the  effort 
made  by  each  sister  to  deceive  the  others  into  a  belief 
of  her  individual  sincerity,  did  at  least  produce  a  de- 
gree of  composure,  in  part  arising  from  positive  anger 
at  the  ill-treatment  the  young  ladies  thought  they  had 
received  from  the  Gallaghers,  and  the  Fogartys,  and 
"  the  whole  set  of  them."  In  that  frame  of  mind 
the  sisters  felt  as  though  they  could  not  possibly 
have  met  any  of  the  offending  parties,  and  they 
were  fain  to  fall  back  on  their  dignity.  They  went 
to  work,  however,  -vith  right  good  will  on  the  acid 


mi 


ilt 


.'■ii.l 


.1   1 


M,'i 


m-''i\ 


'■■I    .!• 


'  • 


*'<f    '. 


106 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


ity  of  the  fruit  before  meDt'^^ned.  The  general  ap- 
pearance of  the  company  as  they  drove  up  and 
alighted,  and  swept  up  the  steps,  furnislied  an  inex- 
haustible theme.  This  one's  dress  was  an  odious 
color,  that  one's  opera-cloak  was  horrible,  one's 
dress  was  shamefully  short,  another's  so  long  that 
she  ought  to  have  had  "  a  darkey  to  hold  up  her 
train,"  one  young  lady's  blue  shaded  silk  was  posi- 
tively declared  by  Sarah  Eugenia  to  have  been  the 
property  of  an  elder  sister — goodness  gracious  I 
was  she  sure  of  that?  Quite,  quite,  quite  sure — 
hadn't  she,  Miss  Sarah-Eugenia  Hackett,  seen  it  a 
score  of  times  on  Winifred- Jane  Mulroony  before 
she  was  married,  and  how  could  so  sharp-sighted  a 
young  lady  be  mistaken  when  she  saw  it  before  her 
eyes  on  Pamela-Rosana,  the  younger  sister  of  the 
disposed-of  Winifred- Jane  ?  They  might  have  had 
two  the  same  was  suggested  by  Mary-Wilhelmina. 

"  I  tell  you  they  hadn't  any  such  thing !"  retorted 
the  elder  sister;  "  if  they  had  we'd  have  seen  them 
on  them  together  sometimes;  but  we  never  did, 
you  know !  an'^  besides,  I'd  swear  that's  Winny's 
old  dress ;  I'd  know  it  among  a  thousand,  for  the 
upper  flounce  was  put  on  crooked.  I  often  noticed 
it ;  and  besides  it  was  a  little  faded  in  the  front.  1 
tell  you  that's  it.  My !  did  you  ever  see  such  a 
thing!  to  go  to  a  reception  with  an  old  cast-off 
dress  like  that !  But  it's  just  good  for  the  Gal- 
laghers ;  they  wouldn't  ask  them  that  knew  better, 
and  would  have  made  a  decent  turn-out !    La !  if  I 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


lOT 


was  Pamela  I  wouldn't  be  seen  at  a  reception  in  that 
oUl  thing;  if  I  didn't  have  better  Vd  stay  at  home." 

A  roar  of  laughter  from  the  others  here  cut  short 
the  vehement  harangue,  and  the  fair  declaimer  asked 
all  in  a  flurry,  *'  Where — where — what  is  it  ?" 

"  Oh  do  look  there,  Sarah !  for  goodness'  sake  do  !" 

A  carriage  had  just  driven  up  to  No.  66,  and  from 
it  had  just  alighted  hones',  T'>hn  Sm'th,  in  the  identi- 
cal nether-garments  and  fr«  jk-coat,  the  scant  pro- 
portions of  which  had  p^ordod  so  ir;  ich  amusement 
at  and  after  'I'.s  daught».i's  mum  ;i*able  party. 

"Well!  upon  my  word!  if  that  a'nt  rich! — but 
stay,  let  us  see   vhat's  camlvig!" 

"Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  Mrs.  iSmith  herself  as  fat  as 
ever  and  stuffed  into  the  very  identical  same  ccpper- 
colored  satin  1 — but  to  be  sure  she  has  a  pink  opera- 
cape  trimmed  with  white  swan's  down — and  such  a 
stylish  cap — well !  after  that !" 

"  Stop !  stop  !  there's  Lil !  let  us  see  what  she  has 
got  on !  A  beautiful  new  silk  I  declare  I  my  1  that 
is  lovely !" 

"  Lovely  !"  cried  Sarah,  with  a  gesture  of  con- 
tempt, "  why,  Ann-Wilbelmina !  where  are  your 
eyes  ?  A  fiaring,  glaring  pink  1  It's  excessively 
vulgar !" 

"Well!  now, /don't  think  so,"  put  in  the  younger 
Bister,  "  I'm  like  Ann — I  admire  that  pink,  and  I 
really  think  it  looks  sweet  with  that  nice  biAck 
trimming,  and  that  elegant  black  lace  scarf  thrown 
over  it——*' 


'^  '^i'i^\ 


tk'i 


.k-' 


M 


i;;: 


.1    ■) 


«i^'-^: 


'r: 

•I. 

'i:; 

J''' 

■  -••■> 

;.■ 

'r 

i 

108 


OLD    AND    NKW  ;    OR, 


'•  Elegant,  indeed !"  repeated  Sarah  with  ineffable 
contempt,  "  much  you  know  about  what's  elegant, 
or  what's  not,  Mary  !  When  pa  brought  home  that 
horrid  old  daub  of  a  picture  the  other  day,  you 
must  go  and  tell  him  it  was  elegant,  though  it 
wasn't  worth  carrying  home,  and  there  we  have  it 
now  for  an  ornament  whether  we  like  it  or  no — just 
look  at  it,  now !  a'nt  it  elegant  ?"  And  she  mim- 
icked Mary's  tone  so  accurately  that  the  younger 
sister  bristled  up,  and  was  about  to  make  a  very 
saucy  answer  when  Michael's  waggish  little  old- 
fashioned  face  appeared  at  the  door,  which  he  had 
noiselessly  opened  a  little  way  and  was  peeping  in 
evidently  much  amused  by  what  was  going  on. 

"  That's  right,  girls  !  that's  right !  calm  weather's 
dull  weather.     How  goes  the  reception  ?" 

"  Like  yourself,  Mike  !  so — so  !" 

"  I  guess'd  as  much." 

"  Why  so,  you  jack-a-napes  ?" 

"  How  could  it  go  well  when  the  three  Miss  Hac- 
ketts  are  not  there  ?"  A  race  was  made  towards 
Michael,  intent  unknown,  but  Michael  was  too  nim- 
ble for  the  "  womankind,"  and  the  Graces  retunied 
to  their  station  at  the  window  out  of  breath  from 
their  wild-goose  chase  and  the  laughter  following 
thereupon. 

That  evening  when  Michael  came  up  to  tea  after 
his  father  had  gone  down  to  replace  him  in  the  store, 
he  renewed  the  subject,  and  asked  his  sisters  what 
notes  of  observation  they  had  taken.  •    - 


hfe 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


109 


"None  at  all,"  was  the  sullen  answer. 

"  Why,  can't  you  tell  us  who  was  there — who 
went  in,  I  mean  ?    Did  you  see  Miss  Von  Wiegel  ?" 

The  girls  were  immediately  on  the  alert.     *'  Why 
my  no,  Michael !  how  could  we  see  her?  sure  that's  the 
grand  lady  Miss  Waldron  told  us  about  I  woM  giv 
anything  at  all  to  see  her." 

"  Well!"  said  Michael  very  composedly,  *'  /saw 
her  this  afternoon — and  was  speaking  to  her,  too  !" 

"Dear  me  1  Michael,  how  did  you  come  to  see 
her  ?"  chorused  the  sisters. 

"  I  didn't  co77te — I  we}it — with  the  groceries." 

"  The  groceries  !  why  you  donH  mean  to  say  the 
Von  Wiegels  deal  with  pa  ?" 

*'  They  just  do,  then,  and  I  went  home  with  the 
groceries  that  their  servant- woman  ordered." 

"  Well !  well !  and  what  did  you  Beo  ?  who  did 
you  see?" 

"  I  saw  a  nice,  cozy  old-faahioned  house  over  on 

the Avenue,  a  great  Newfoundland  dog  lying 

on  a  mat  in  the  porch,  and  he  barked  at  me  as  I 
passed — he  did,  indeed,  girls  !" 

"Well?" 

"  A  great  tall  clock  in  the  kitchen,  going  tick,  tick, 
tick,  ar  natural  as  life,  and  a  range  with  a  beautiful 
bright  fire  in  it  blazing  away  like  fun  through  the 
bars ~" 

*'  Well,  well,  and  what  more  ?'* 

'*  And  a  thick-set,  sour-looking  German  servant 
called  Jan,  and  his  wife  Betty — an  Irishwoman  from 


fV*' 


l5I 


m 


'>';ii 


v^ii} 


'M 


.if:] 


»*,. 


■■■'■'vsHiii'; 

'".1  :^i^; 
■  ,:^  v;;;:M 

■  '••'■1..^'*' 


110 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   Oil, 


father's  place  at  home — it  was  she  that  got  the  ladiei 
to  give  us  their  custom " 

'•  But  what  else.     I  mean  who  else  did  you  see  ?" 

"  I  saw — Miss  Von  Wiegel !" 

"  What !  in  the  kitchen  ?" 

"  Yes !  in  the  kitchen  !" 

"  And  what  on  earth  was  she  doing  there  ?" 

"  Cooking !" 

"  Cooking !"— "Miss  Von  Wiegel  cooking!"— "My 
goodness ;  and  what  was  she  cooking  ?" 

"  I  didn't  ask  her,"  said  Michael  drily ;  "  Betty 
tells  me  she's  always  making  nice  things  to  try  and 
coax  the  old  lady  to  eat  because  she  hasn't  much  of 
an  appetite." 

"  And  did  she  speak  to  you,  Michael  ?'* 

"  She  did." 

"  And  what — what  did  she  say  ?" 

"  She  asked  me  to  go  over  and  have  an  air  of  the 

arc:' 

"  *  An  air  of  the  fire  !' — my  !  that's  just  what  any 
common  Irish  person  would  say  !" 

"  Well !  Irish  or  no  Irish  that's  what  she  said.'* 

"  But  what  did  she  wear,  Michael  ?" — "  Yes !  yes  ! 
Michael!  tell  us  what  sort  of  dress  she  had  on." 

"  Some  kind  of  a  brown  stuff,  I  think  you  womea 
call  it  Coburg,  and  a  black  silk  apron  and  a  small 
linen  collar !" 

"  Nonsense,  Michael !  yon  re  only  making  fun  of 
as!——  '>' 


.'f»i 


TASTE    VERSUS    rASHION. 


Ill 


i 


"  Just  as  if  a  grand  young  lady  like  Miss  Von 
Wiegel  would  be  seen  wearing  a  coramoii  Coburg  !'* 

"  How  green  he  takes  us  to  be  !" 

*'  Well !  green  or  blue,  I  tell  ycu  what  I  saw," 
said  Michael  with  unmistakeable  sincerity ;  "  you 
may  believe  me  or  not,  just  as  you  please !" 

Tlie  sisters  saw  plainly  that  Mio/hael  was  in 
earnest,  and,  what  was  more,  they  could  not  get  ano- 
ther word  out  of  him  about  the  Von  Wiegels.  They 
were  so  shocked,  however,  at  what  they  had  heard, 
that  the  family  fell  several  degrees  in  their  estima- 
tion, and  they  speedily  arrived  at  the  sapient  conclu- 
Hion  that  they  (the  Von  Wiegels)  were  "  no  so  great 
shakes  after  all  P' 

Michael  turned  a  look  on  them  as  he  left  the 
room  that  made  them  feel  smaller  than  they  ever 
thought  to  feel  themselves,  and  they  heard  him 
ginging  as  he  descended  the  stairs : 

"  The  ladies  all  are  come  to  town, 

They're  ever  so  neat  and  handy,  0 1 
The  red,  the  fair,  the  black,  the  brown, 
Mavrone,  but  they're  the  dandy,  0 !" 


&mm 


isl? 

>'.    >  ' 

ifl 

<l 

'  it 

*  •, 

■:!!•  «: 

"    ■ 

■n 

■1 , 

■  :» 

■<   }  ■ 

112 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


'■_,<■.  ("« 


:.«i: 


'.,     ^! 


CHAPTER  VI. 

MORNING    CALLS   AT   RUBINFBLDT    IIOUSB. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  her  daughter  were  Bitting 
together  with  their  work-table  before  them  one  bright 
forenoon,  a  few  days  after  the  grand  reception  at  Tom 
Gallagher's.  The  old  lady  was  knitting  a  stocking, 
and  Bertha  was  embroidering  a  piece  of  black  velvet 
with  white  and  silver  beads.  The  room  in  which 
they  sat  was  large  and  cheerful,  with  two  windows 
on  either  side,  so  that  it  eviviently  r.-iin  the  length, 
or  rather  the  breadth  of  the  house.  The  furniture 
was  rich  and  heavy,  but  of  a  style  long  exploded  in 
the  New  York  world  of  fashion.  The  hangings 
were  of  dark  brown  damask,  trimmed  with  that 
deep  yellow  fringe,  with  small  brown  tassels  inter- 
mixed, a  style  of  trimming  quite  common  in  well- 
furnished  houses  some  fifty  or  sixty  years  since,  but 
now  numbered  with  the  things  that  were  and  are  no 
longer.  The  frames  of  the  large  mirrors  were  rich 
and  massive,  but  somewhat  tarnished  by  the  rust  of 
time,  and  the  antique  sofas,  and  ottomans,  and 
tabourets,  all  covered  with  plain  hair-cloth,  would, 
no  doubt,  have  been  voted  "  awfully  shabby"  by  the 
fashionable  ladies  of  the  vicinity.  A  glance  at  the 
venerable  time-piece  on  the  mantel-shelf,  and  the 
portrait  over  it  reminded  you  of  the  room  in  which 


''^iPf 


-i*.  Xi 

^"'V^ 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


113 


^ve  first  saw  the  mother  and  daughter,  and  another 
glance  around  soon  convinced  you  that  it  was  the 
same  apartment.  The  Indian  screen  stood  in  a 
remote  corner,  and  the  little  claw-footed  table  was 
beside  the  large,  deep  fautevil  that  still  occupied  a 
place  near  the  fire.  The  lurnl^.ure  was  all  plain,  as  I 
have  said,  but  a  closer  inspection  showed  various 
articles  of  virtu  which  denoted  at  once  the  refined 
taste  and  ample  means  of  the  owners.  There  were 
bronzes  of  antique  form  and  curious  workmanship 
that  looked  as  though  they  might  have  graced  some 
patrician  dwelling  in  Pompeii  or  Herculaneura  ; 
there  were  statuettes,  and  urns,  and  Etruscan  vases, 
whose  graceful  forms  and  exquisite  sculpture  be- 
spoke their  Italian  origin  ;  there  were  paintings, 
some  three  or  four,  that  seemed  to  be  copies  of  the 
old  masters,  chiefly  Murillo,  one  of  whose  glorious 
Madonnas,  a  half-figure,  hung  opposite  the  ladies 
where  they  sat.  There  was  but  one  portrait  ill  the 
room,  the  one  to  which  I  have  before  alluded.  It 
was  a  venerable  gentleman  with  a  fair,  fresh,  placid 
countenance,  decidedly  German  in  outline,  linea- 
ments and  expression.  The  forehead  was  high  and 
bald,  and  the  few  scattered  locks  that  shaded  the 
temples  wera  white  with  the  snows  of  age.  The 
costume  was  such  as  we  usually  see  on  the  gentle 
men  of  Washington's  time,  and  a  scroll  of  parch- 
ment in  his  hand  indicated  either  a  member  of  the 
bar,  or,  more  probably  still,  of  the  Senate. 
The  ladies  had  been  talking  of  certain  scenes  w 


>w    ■■■■  v-;»  '"xii 


mm 


"^•iur-v 


'*;•;*;'«? 


'■'■A*'  *•*■'.!  V  .•• 


Q&i 


,1,      ,< 


■■'  ■  .  «"*!'  lilt ' 


m 
m 


•ji 


*'; 


'ill 

Si! 


114 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


the  vicinity  of  Castle  Mahon  where  .he  mother  had 
been  brought  up  and  where  the  daughter  had  spent 
80  many  of  the  years  of  her  life. 

"  Yes!"  said  the  old  lady  with  a  natural  sigh,  and 
a  fixed  abstracted  look,  "  I  remember  them  all  as 
though  I  had  seen  them  but  yesterday.  The  green 
swelling  hills  sloping  down  to  the  rich  holmes  by 
the  river  side — the  dark  woods  broken  into  pictur- 
esque forms — the  craggy  rocks  jutting  here  and 
there  through  their  tufted  foliage — the  huge  pile  ol 
grey  stones  crowning  the  grassy  hillock ^" 

"  Ha !  the  Druid's  seat !"  interrupted  Bertha, 
with  a  flushed  cheek  and  a  kindling  eye;  "yes!  yes! 
I  remember  thai^* — her  mother  lifted  her  head  and 
looked  at  her  through  her  gt)ld-mounted  spectacles. 

"I  should  think  you  would,"  she  said,  rather  dryly, 
"  it  used  to  form  quite  a  prominent  object  in  the 
landscape." 

"And  what  an  object,  mother!*'  said  Bertha  with 
A  tremor  in  her  voice  that  she  tried  to  conceal  by 
ialking  on  in  a  hurried  and  somewhat  excited  man* 
Qer,  "  what  a  vignette  it  would  make  for  a  work  on 
(rish  Archaeology  sitting  there  on  its  'bonnie  broom 
inowe'  in  the  sylvan  glade,  that  old,  old  memento 
of  Ireland's  elder  day  !  It  carries  the  mind  back  to 
the  ante-Christian  period  of  Irish  history  when  the 
Druids  held  men's  souls  and  bodies  in  thrall,  and 
exercised  their  priestly  functions  at  the  cromleach 
hard  by,  and  worshipped  in  the  shade  of  the  sacred 
grove    tLat    crowned    the   neighboring   hill.     The 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


115 


j^ove  is  gone  ages  since,  but  the  cromleach  re» 
mains " 

"  And  the  judgment-seat,"  added  the  mother,  and 
again  she  fixed  her  calm  eyes  on  Bertha's  face. 
"  The  vignette,  you  know !  By  the  bye,  Bertha  I 
did  you  ever  hear  any  of  the  wild  traditions  con- 
nected with  that  chair  ?" 

"  Y — yes,  no — yes,  I  believe " 

"  A  very  satisfactory  answer,  truly,"  said  her  mo- 
ther with  a  faint  smile.  "  And,  pray  my  very  lucid 
and  intelligible  daughter,  what  did  you  hear  in  rela- 
tion to  the  Druid's  Chair  ?'* 

"Why,  mother!"  said  Bertha,  with  great  appa- 
rent simplicity,  "  I  read  many  speculations  concern- 
ing it  in  the  pages  of  our  learned  antiquaries— 


i> 


"  There  is  more  said  '  concerning  it'  by  the  fire- 
sides of  the  peasantry,"  said  her  mother  pointedly, 
"  and  I  marvel  much  if  a  young  lady  so  fond  of  tra- 
ditionary lore  can  have  failed  to  learn  the  weird 
character  of  the  Druid's  Chair,  and  the  strange 
tales  told  of  it  around  Castle  Mahon- 


»j 


A  shadow  fell  on  Bertha's  face ;  it  might  be  a 
passing  cloud  that  cast  it,  but  no  cloud,  however 
charged  with  electric  force,  could  cause  the  creeping 
shudder  that  ran  through  her  frame.  She  laughed, 
nevertheless,  and  muttered  to  herself  with  Isabella 
in  the  Fatal  Marriage 

*'  Would  I  were  past  the  bearing  I" 
She  looked  round  the  room — no  figure  was  to  be 


ml 


W 


m 

fc 


J-'tt 


■'.V'V  *■  • 


"•11 


".'* 


V 


^^4  <i 


;,-.-j- 

•* 

'    A 

"■ .'. ' ' 

^^ 

■.  V-: 

116 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


seen  more  life-liko  than  the  Christian  Missionary  on 
the  mantel-piece  at  the  other  end  of  the  apartment, 
or  the  beautiful  Madonna  looking  down  so  lovingly 
from  the  canvass  opposite.  Bertha's  eyes  rested  a 
moment  on  the  gracious  countenance,  and  somehow 
the  sight  seemed  to  compose  her  shaken  nerves. 

"  Mother !"  said  she,  laughing  again,  but  this  tim 
more  naturally,  "  Mother,  I  had  no  idea  you  were 
so  curious  in  such  matters.  For  myself,  I — I — have 
heard  so  many  legends  connected  with  every  spot 
in  the  romantic  region  where  my  youth  was  past 
that  I  cannot  immediately  call  up  any  one  distinctly 
from  the  misty  haze  wherein  they  dwell  '  dim  in 
their  dark-brown  years,*  as  Ossian  says.  Some  other 
time  I  will  try  to  remember — w^hat  I  strongly  sus 
pect  you  know  better  than  I  do  myself,"  she  added 
with  an  arch  smile. 

Much  to  her  relief  the  door  opened,  and  Jan  appeared 
to  announce  two  ladies  who  respectively  announced 
themselves  as  Mrs.  Susanna  L.  Bumford  and  Mrs 
Jedediah  Hopington.  There  was  an  air  of  respecta- 
bility about  these  ladies,  that  is  to  say  they  were 
richly  and  gravely  clad,  and  their  demeanor  was 
that  of  well-bred  persons,  so  that  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  and  her  daughter  stood  up  to  receive  them, 
and  having  exchanged  distant  but  polite  salutations 
with  the  visitors,  requested  them  to  be  seated — 
then  quietly  waited  to  ascertain  the  object  of  their 
visit. 

Mrs.  Bumford  spoke  first,  very  slowly  and  verj 


TASTE    VERSU3    FASHION. 


in 


distinctly.      "  We    took    the    liberty 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  on  behalf  of  the  - 


of    calling 

Ward 

Mission,  and  the  schools  connected  with  it."  She 
took  out  a  book  and  pencil.  "  May  we  hope  to 
have  the  honor  of  your  name  and " 

"  And  the  benefit  of  my  subscription/'  said 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  with  a  smile.  "  Well !  ladies, 
I  have  no  objection  to  subscribe,  but  I  should  like 
to  know  exactly  what  I  am  subscribing  for.  Pray 
what  is  the  nature  of  this  Mission  ?*' 

"  It  is  rather  strange,  madam  !  that  you  should 
not  have  heard  before  now  of  an  institution  so  every 
way  important,"  observed  Mrs.  Ilopington  in  a 
strong  nasal  twang  indicative  of  Down-East  ori- 
gin. 

"  It  is  rather  unfortunate,  at  least,"  said  the  old 
lady  still  smiling,  "  but  having  admitted  my  igno- 
rance, wiU  you  be  so  good  as  to  enlighten  me  ? 
What  is  the  nature  of  the  Mission — what  are  its 
objects  ?" 

"  The  nature  of  the  Mission,"  began  Mrs.  S.  L. 
Bumford,  pitching  her  voice  on  a  somewhat  higher 
key 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Bertha  speaking  for  the  first 
time,  "  but  my  mother  is  not  deaf,  her  hearing  is 
remarkably  good."     And  she  smiled  blandly. 

More  than  a  little  disconcerted  by  this  quiet 
sarcasm,  good  Mrs.  Bumford  found  it  necessary  to 
cough  once  or  twice  before  she  recovered  the  thread 
©f  her  discourse. 


u.!--;t; 


"■''*.. 


•■:i 


''^  % 


■i'l 


*  ■ 

■■'J 
;  r, 

*      '    f ' 

"1 

■  "li! 

;.,..^ 

1  f 

,,^i 
!!'' 

iii 

■!    V. 

!"■((( 

■». 

1 

■-%^ 

i-*|l 

M  ',"•(:: 

:.    ■!  il 

1         '.-'■'» 

.  1 

■  lil 

118 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


"  The  nature  of  the  Mission — is — benevolent," 
said  she,  "  and  its  objects — strictly  charitable." 

"  Strictly  charitable,  are  they  ?" 

"  Yes,  except  in  so  far  as  they  are  industrial." 

"Very  good,  indeed,  and  very  laudable.  And 
who  are  principally  the  recipients  of  the  Mission's 
bounty  ?" 

"  The  degraded — and  utterly  abandoned  creatures 
—who  are  huddled  together — in  the  wretched — and 
some  of  them  ruinous — abodes — so  common  in  that 
Ward." 

"Of  course,  my  dear  Mrs.  Bumford,  you  mean 
the  children  of  those  unhappy  people,"  suggested 
her  colleague;  "  you  know  it  would  not  be  possible 
for  the  Mission  to  do  anything  with  the  parents." 

"  And  why,  my  dear  madam  ?"  questioned  her 
attentive  listener  very,  very  calmly. 

"  Oh  dear.  Madam  Von  Wiegel !  they  are  hope- 
less;— so  addicted  are  they  to  idleness,  drunken- 
ness, blasphemy,  and,  in  short,  everything  bad,  that 
there  a*nt  any  chance  whatsoever  of  benefiting  their 
condition.  The  degrading  superstitions  of  Popery 
have  besotted  them  to  such  a  degree  that  their 
blindness  is  incurable — it  really  is ;  they  are  of  those 
of  whom  it  is  written  that  they  are  abandoned  to 
their  own  wickedness— -yea,  to  the  perversity  of 
their  evil  ways."  / 

"  Who  are  these  unfortunate  people  ?"  lomandecl 
the  old  lady.  -  . 

Chiefly  low  Irish  and  Italians."      ^  '   .  ^  >  : 


({ 


T48TE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


lid 


"  And  you  have  no  hope  of  benefiting  them,  but 
count  on  caving  their  children  ?" 

"  Precisely,  madam  !"  said  Mrs.  Buraford ;  "  the 
wretched  parents  are  beyond  the  reach  of  spiritual 
Buccor.  What  do  you  think  a  horrid  low  Irishwo- 
man told  one  of  our  fellow-laborers  the  other  day, 
when  she  endeavored  to  move  her  hardened  heart  to 
repentance?^' 

"  I  really  cannot  guess,  but  I  should  like  to 
hear." 

"  Well !  she  told  her,  mv  dear  madam  ! — Excuse 
me — I  actually  tremble,  so  that  I  can — hardly — ven- 
ture to — repeat  the  wicked  words.  They  are  too 
shocking  for  Christian  ears  to  hear  or  Christian 
tongue  to  utter.'* 

"  Pray  compose  yourself,  and  favor  us  so  far ! 
My  daughter  and  I  have  tolerably  strong  nerves." 

"  Well  !'*  said  Mrs.  Bumford,  making  a  desperate 
effort  to  expel  the  soul-defiling  words  from  her 
Christian  mouth :  "  She  told  our  dear  Christian  sis- 
ter that  the  devil  was  the  first  Protestant — she  did,  in- 
deed. Madam  Von  Wiegel !  and  that  people  could 
get  to  heaven  without  ever  reading  the  Bible " 

"  What  a  degree  of  hardihood  she  must  have  had, 
that  *  low  Irishwoman  !* " 

"But  that  wasn't  the  worst  of  it,  my  dear 
madam !"  said  Mrs.  Hopington,  coming  to  the 
rescue  of  her  dear  exhausted  sister. 

"  Indeed  !  Why  I  should  think,  after  throwing 
the  Bible  overboard,  and  traoiiig  the  pedigree  of 


mmm- 


■(,,■:   '-4     ' 


'd-'-'^H 


:iiL;i 


1^^:"'^ 


120 


.1:. 


"I 

'•.  Ill 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


ProteSbantism  up  to  the  arch-rebel  Lucifer,  you. 
'low  Irishwoman*  could  go  no  farther." 

"  She  did,  though.  She  told  us  we  were  all  a  set 
of  humbugs,  going  about  preaching  religion  to 
them  that  had  the  true  religion,  if  they  only  had  the 
grace  to  practice  it,  and  that  it  would  be  fitter  fo! 
us  be  at  home  darning  our  stockings  than  trying  to 
inveigle  poor  children  from  their  lawful  par-ents, 
and  get  them  in  by  hook  or  by  crook  to  our  Mission- 
house." 

"  How  insulting !" 

"  How  shockingly  rude  !"  ejaculated  the  mother 
and  daughter. 

"  Was  it  not  ? — but  what  do  you  think  the  vile 
creature  called  our  Mission  ?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  Well !  she  called  it  a  man-trap." 

*^ Soul-trap^  dear!  I  think  wai  the  word,"  sug- 
gested the  other  Missionary  very  gently 

"  Yes,  so  it  was, — well !  she  called  it  a  soul-trap, 
and  said  it  would  be  better  for  the  poor  children 
caught  in  it  that  they  died  of  hunger  on  the  streets 
than  eat  bread  and  meat  of  our  providing.  Wasn't 
that  fearful.  Madam  Von  Wiegel  ?" 

"  Very  fearful,  indeed ! — but  may  I  ask — in  order 
to  ascertain  how  far  the  woman  was  wrong  and  how 
far  right — how  do  you  provide  for  these  children  so 
tenderly  cared  for,  as  you  say,  by  the  ladies  and 
gentlemen  of  the  Mission  ?  You  cannot  keep  them 
always  as  pensioners  on  ypur  bounty  ?" 


m< 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION, 


121 


"  Of  course  not,  madam !  we  have  another  society 
called  The  Children's  Aid  Society  which  takes  charge 
ot*  them  after  we  have  given  them  a  certain  amount 
of  education,  and  sends  them  out  West  where,  being 
disentangled  from  the  evil  surroundings  of  their  mis- 
erable home  and  those  degraded  connections  who 
could  only  prove  a  curse  to  them  in  after  life  and 
retard  their  progress  in  every  way,  they  can  enter 
on  a  new  career  with  a  fair  chance  for  success." 

"  Very  prudent  on  the  part  of  the  Mission  ! — And 
the  triends  so  cut  otF — do  they  never  give  any 
trouble  in  the  way  of  claiming  their  own  He  \\  and 
blood  ?" 

"  Once  in  a  while  they  do,  but  they  are  generally 
so  poor— owing  to  their  vicious  way  of  living — that 
they  cannot  do  much.  Of  course,  the  authorities 
are  all  with  us ;  having  a  truly  paternal  interest  in 
the  unfortunate  victims  they  are  well  disposed  to 
protect  them  even  against  their  own  wretched 
parents,  so  that  we  have  nothing  to  fear  from  them^ 

"And  so r 

"  And  so  we — that  is  the  Society — changes  the 
children's  names  and  sends  them  off  to  the  branch- 
societies  in  various  parts  of  the  Union " 

"  Where  their  relatives  and  friends  lose  all  trace 
of  them,  and  they  grow  up — anything  and  everything 
except  Romanists  ?" 

"  Just  so,  madam  !"  And  forthwith  the  pocket- 
book  was  opened,  and  the  pencil  held  in  readiness. 
"  And  now  that  we  have  explained  the  nature  and 


■.,.■,  -I  •  -'. 

,. , ',  >  'j  J?  r 


*i'^   ■  'ri.  i>' .  •  I 

I  •    ■»•','  ,<»■■ ,  I  • 
'  '»■  "'t-  ^i' 

..  .,r;,yT.    '\ 


IT  •tyi » 


^F/S(t  ■'«'*'■  W:jV.  ?.T  • 


V.^-- 


!?!?■ 


'■'■■  ■H  V! 


V22 


01,n    AND    NEW  ,    OR, 


.-^■5 


•■■i 


::;|! 


■  Si.^i 


,  til'' 


the  objects  of  our  excellent  institution  in  as  satisfac- 
tory a  manner  as  our  poor  abilities  would  permit, 
shall  we  not  have  the  honor  of  receiving  your  sub- 
scription ?    How  much  shall  I  say,  madam  ?" 

^^  Nothing  r 

"  Nothing!"  repeated  both  the  Missionaries  aghast. 
*'  Nothing  ?  did  you  say  '  nothing  ?'  " 

"  I  did,"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  "  and  I  mean 
what  I  say.'* 

"  Are  we,  then,  to  understand  that  you  refuse  to 
subscribe  ?" 

"  I  do  refuse." 

"  And  on  what  grounds,  pray  ?" 

"  On  very  simple  grounds,"  said  Madam  Von  Wie- 
gel rising  with  dignity,  "  because  I  am  a  Catholic." 

"  You  a  Catholic !  you,  a  German  lady  of  high 
standing,  and  connected  with  a  family  so  long  and 
BO  honorably  known  here." 

"  I  am  fain  to  hope  tl»at  German  ladies  of  higher 
standing  than  mine  are  good  Catholics,"  said  the 
old  lady  with  a  half  smile,  "  but  as  it  happens,  I  am 
not  German,  though  my  husband  was.'''' 

"  And  pray  what  are  you,  then  ?"  said  Mrs.  Bum- 
lord  pertly. 

"  The  question  is  rather  impertinent,"  said  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  calmly,  "  but  I  will  not  refuse  to 
answer  it.  I  am  a  countrywoman  of  that  contro- 
vei'sial  friend  of  yours  who  made  so  uncivilly  free 
with  your  sectional  origin,  and  I  know  not  but  you 
Will  set  me  down,  too,  as  *  a  low  Irishwoman,'  for 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOJJ. 


123 


must  own  that  I  have  no  greater  respect  than  she 
for  religious  humbugs^  and  pious  kidnappers.  Ber- 
tha, my  dear  !  be  so  good  as  to  touch  the  bell." 

Jan  appeared  on  the  instant. 

"  Show  those  ladies  to  the  door,  Jan !"  said  his 
mistress. 

The  ladies  stood  up,  as  erect  and  nearly  as  rigid 
as  Lot's  wife  after  her  transformation.  The  milk 
of  human  kindness — or  rather  the  whey  of  philan- 
trophy  was  turned  to  acrid  yeast  in  the  pulmonio 
region — vulgarly  called  breast  ~-oi  \\\q  two  zealous 
agents  of  the  Fourth  Ward  Mission,  and  began  so 
to  ferment  that  an  explosion  was  inevitable  before 
they  left  the  spot. 

"  Madam  Von  Wiegel !"  began  one,  all  panting 
with  anger,  "  we  are  not  surprised " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Yon  Wiegel !"  chorused  the  other, 
"  we  are  not  surprised  at  your  unlady-like  conduct 
now  that  we  know  what  you  are  !" 

**  And  we  might  have  guessed  it  before,  dear !  from 
the  way  she  cross-examined  us — only  for  the  respect 
due  to  the  memory  of  that  man  there,"  pointing  to 
the  portrait  over  t'le  mantel-piece,  "  for  I  suppose 
that's  meant  for  Johannes  Von  Wiegel " 

"  You  are  not  mistaken,"  said  the  lady  of  the  man 
«ioD  coldly. 

"Well !  only  for  hiyn  and  all  the  other  Von  Wic- 
gels  that  were  a  credit  to  the  country  and  undoubted 
friends  to  the  Protestant  interest — we  would  have 
you  exposed — as  you  deserve  !" 


ii 


.  ■■'.  t  ■  ■■  ^   /'' 


rV  .'     ■  •■'  -T  V 


mf  f \~ 'i'  "lit' t  M "■ 


I  1 


.III 


%i  m 


...  ',  ■     •  ,,, 


■'.*  •'■''"ii.^i')!, 


,||' 
l 


124 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


This  brought  Bertha  to  her  feet,  cold,  cahn  and 

stern.     "  Jan !"  said  she,  "  show  those  women  to  the 
door — at  once  /" 

Jan  stood  holding  the  room-door  open  and  mo- 
tioning them  out  with  an  imperative  shake  of  the 
head.  There  v/as  no  possibility  of  further  resistance 
or  further  delay,  so  Mrs.  Susanna  L.  Bumford  swept 
grandly  from  the  room,  and  after  her,  with  a  like 
majestic  air,  Mrs.  Jedediah  Hopington,  consoling 
themselv^es  as  they  traversed  the  hall  with  a  pithy 
diatribe,  in  duetto,  on  the  baneful  effects  of  Popery. 

"  Well !  my  dear  mother,"  said  Bertha  when  the 
door  had  closed  after  their  visitors,  "  I  knew  you  had 
a  reasonable  stock  of  patience,  but  I  own  you  suprised 
me  to-day.  I  could  not  have  listened  to  their  pha- 
risaical  cant  half  the  time." 

"  Patience  were  little  worth,  Bertha !  if  it  did 
not  enable  us  to  bear  more  than  that." 

"  True ;  but  did  it  not  make  your  blood  boil  to 
hear  them  describe  in  such  a  cool,  business-way  the 
nefarious  means  those  people  employ  to  promote 
the  interests  of  Protestantism  ?" 

"  I  must  confess  it  did,  my  dear !  but  still  it  did 
not  surprise  me — I  have  seen  enough  of  their  manoeu 
vring  in  other  countries  to  convince  me  that  hatred 
of  Catholicity  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  their  philau- 
thropical  associations — they  may  put  what  name 
they  please  on  them  severally,  but  that  is  the  basis 
common  to  all." 

"  Well !  that  is  p  /ie\\  phase  of  New  York  society 


^ .  * 


TASTR    TF.RSrS    FASHTOX. 


125 


»--at  least  for  me,"  said  Bertha,  "  but,  by  the  bye, 
mother !  when  are  you  going  to  answer  Aunt  Helen's 
letter  ?  I  have  written  to  Eveleen  this  mornings 
and  to  Uncle  Gerald,  and  I  propose  adding  a  post- 
Bcript  to  yours  when  you  write,  in  relation  to  that 
sepulchral  cairn  which  has  been  recently  discovered 
in  their  vicinity." 

"  And  the  ancient  brooch  and  armlets  found 
theiein." 

*  Even  so,  mother !  I  am  anxious  to  know  whe- 
ther the  brooch  corresponds  with  any  of  the  Jibulce* 
described  by  Walker  in  his  Treatise  on  the  Dress 
of  the  Ancient  Irish.  The  collection  of  specimens 
in  the  Dublin  Museum  is  not  as  full  as  we  could 
wish — some  of  the  most  curious  have  beer  bought 
up  from   private  owners  for  foreign  collections— - 


>» 


sold  to  the  highest  bidder- 

"  Two  more  ladies !"  said  Jan,  opening  the  door 
with  a  broad  grin  on  his  broad  face. 

"  Show  them  in,  Jan  ! " 

"  I  wonder  what  are  these  about,"  said  Bertha  in 
an  under  tone,  "perhaps  Missionaries  from  some 
other  ward."  She  rose,  as  did  her  mother,  on  tho 
entrance  of  two  nondescript  animals  attired  in  a 
fashion  half  masculine,  half  feminine,  but  rather  in- 
clining to   the  former.     Jan   stood   looking   after 

*  The  Jibuhi  was  a  large  brooch  of  gold  or  silver,  sometimes 
ornamented  vith  jewels  used  by  the  pagan  Irish  of  both  sexea 
for  fastening  those  long  cloaks  in  which  we  see  them  -epre- 
Beuted.    They  have  been  dug  up  in  many  parts  of  Ireland. 


■■■■  '■■^:".>  Vi'*;- 
■   '  ^V"•kvV.  »:  1 


n^*r 


^iPilt-H'l 


126 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


•«■'  '; -M 


.r:ry     ,:!! 


them  as  they  advanced  into  the  room  with  au  ex- 
pression of  bewildered  curiosity  that  was  amusing 
to  see.  From  the  rakish  looking  hats  that  sat  so 
jauntily  on  their  to  the  Turkish  trowsers 

and  stout  buskins  ostentatiously  displayed  beneath 
skirts  that  Diana  herself  might  have  gone  hunting 
in  without  fear  of  let  or  hindrance  to  her  divine 
footsteps.  Buckskin  gloves,  or  rather  gauntlets 
with  deep  leather  cuffs  attached,  completed  the 
costume. 

"  Mien  goot  Got !"  ejaculated  Jan  as  he  left  the 
room  and  hurried  to  the  kitchen  to  tell  Betty  what 
a  curious  pair  of  visitors  were  in  the  parlor. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  her  daughter  bowed,— 
the  visitors  bowed  likewise,  or  rather  nodded,  and 
then  they  seated  themselves  with  the  air  of  persons 
who  felt  they  had  a  right  to  be  seated  stand  who 
would.  They  were  an  oddly  assorted  pair  of  ferai- 
nines,  one  being  uncommonly  tall  with  a  dark  face 
and  a  lowering  brow,  the  other  uncommonly  short 
with  a  little  withered,  greyish-white  visage  and 
small  ferret-eyes  peering  keenly  from  under  the  prn« 
jecting  leaf  of  her  "  gypsey  flat." 

It  was  clear  that  the  ladies  were  of  the  Bloomer 
school,  whatever  else  they  might  be,  and  it  was  just 
:is  clear  that  neither  was  on  the  sunny  side  of  forty. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  was  about  to  ask  in  an  iron* 
ical  tone  what  fortunate  circumstances  had  pro- 
cured her  the  honor  of  their  visit,  when  the  tall  lady 
opened  her  mouth — it  was  a  good  sized  organ,  too,  an  J 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOIf. 


121 


enunciated  in  loud,  emphatic  tones — meant  probably 
for  masculine — the  following  words  : 

"  We  are  obtaining  signatures,  ladies,  for  a  peti- 
tion intended  for  presentation  at  the  forthcoming 
session  of  the  Legislature." 

Somewhat  surprised,  but  too  polite  to  show  it, 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  asked  \ery  quietly 
,  "  To  what  does  the  petition  relate?'* 

"  To  our  rights,  madam !"  stamping  her  foot  en- 
ergetically on  the  carpet,  "  our  trampled  rights  as 
women." 

"  Oh  indeed !  and  what  particular  rights  are  you 
claiming  now  at  the  hands  of  the  Legislature  ?" 

"  The  right  of  speech,  madam  1"  said  the  tall  Ama- 
zon with  still  increasing  energy.  "  We  claim  a 
voice  in  the  councils  of  the  nation — the  right  to 
plead  the  cause  of  oppressed  womanhood  st  the 
bar  of  the  Senate,  yea,  and  at  the  bar  of  justice — 
wherever  man's  tyranny  and  injustice  and  all-grasp- 
ing selfishness  are  to  be  grappled  with,  and  subdooed. 
Men  have  kept  us  too  long  in  a  state  of  subjection 
for  which  Nature  or  Nature's  God  never  designed 
us.     Eve  was  made  free — the  equal  of  Adam " 

"  Pardon  me,  madam !  I  really  was  under  the 
impression  that  Adam  got  dominion  over  K\e " 

"All  a  mistake,  madam — all  a  mistake  !  That 
pleasant  fiction  was  generated  in  the  self- worship- 
ping heart  of  man." 

"  It  has  influenced  all  the  inspired  writers,  then,** 
said  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  a  smile  playing  round  the 


mm 


» 


,   ■<:.'•  is' 


.  ,  •  •  it/*.  f' ' 


':'.-    »'■     ''  •' 


'  V> 


.1      .,      !■/ 


'■    :    \\:<-M/..,.i.    .'t 


■  "M*-  ■■  ■ 


ft",;- 


"...  »;'fM'.';--  f„ 
H^    •'•J»'  .  ■*   iff  • 


TW 


^:;,.V  ^ 


128 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


l^v,  S 


-.<■   '  /  >    ' 

hi,  f-' 


corners  of  her  mouth  and  twinkling  in  her  dark 
eyes.  "  From  Genesis  to  the  Apocalypse  the  Bible 
is  full  of  it,  and  the  great  Doctor  of  the  Gen- 
tiles  " 

"A  fig  for  your  great  Doctor  of  the  Gentiles.  Of 
course  you  mean  Paul,  whom  nobody  minds  now-a- 
days." 

"  It  appears  you  do  not,  at  all  events,"  put  in 
Madam  Von  Wiegel. 

'*  Certainly  not,"  said  the  tall  champion  of  wo- 
man's rights.  "  I  pretend  to  a  small  share  of  theo- 
logical and  Scriptural  acumen  myself,  seeing  that  I 
studied  Divinity  under  a  godly  professor,  who  was 
my  father,  moreover,  according  to  the  flesh,  and 
graduated  at  one  of  our  first  New  England  col- 
leges  " 

She  paused,  evidently  to  give  her  hearers  an  op- 
portunity of  expressing  their  admiration. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  bowed — Bertha  bit  her  lip, 
and  cast  down  her  eyes  very  demurely  but  said 
nothing.  The  tall  woman  was  taken  aback — the 
little  woman  spoke  in  a  little  squeaking  voice  cor- 
responding with  her  appearance. 

"  Perhaps  we  ought  to  have  announced  ourselves," 
said  she,  "  ladies,  this  is  the  Reverend  Julietta  Fire- 
proof, B.  A.,  Bachelor  of  Arts,  and  I,"  she  added, 
raising  herself  on  her  toes,  in  the  vain  endeavor  to 
reach  the  height  of  her  own  importance,  "  I,  ladies, 
am  Dorothea  Mary  Wohtoncroft  Brown^  oH  Vihova.  you 
may  probably  have  heard !" 


■i.     •!■ 


MM'  : 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


129 


Madam  Von  Wiegel  bowed  again.  She  could  not 
find  in  her  heart  to  pull  the  stilts  from  under  the  little 
woman  by  telling  her  the  plain  unvarnished  truth. 

"  Oh  !  of*  course,  of  course,"  said  the  inflated  little 
gas-bag,  interpreting  the  bow  according  to  her 
wishes — "  my  lectures  on  Physiology  and  Animal 
Magnetism  and  Bi-ology  have  excited  no  little  at- 
tention. By  the  bye,  ladies !  I  lecture  to-morrow 
evening  in  Extravaganza  Hall — allow  me  to  present 
you  with  tickets  for  the  course — subjects  of  great 
interest  and  importance,  including  Woman's  Rights, 
Spiritualism  and  Negro  Slavery  !" 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Madam  Yon  Wiegel 
with  freezing  civility,  "  I  have  no  doubt  but  we 
should  be  entertained  and  instructed  were  it  in  our 
power  to  attend  your  lectures,  which,  I  regret  to 
Bay,  it  is  not." 

"  Well,  madam !"  said  the  Reverend  Miss  Fire- 
proof with  a  sidelong  glance  at  her  companion  who 
had  been  engrossing  much  too  large  a  share  of  the 
conversation  for  her  liking,  "  well,  madam !  shall 
we  have  the  honor  of  affixing  your  name  to  our 
petition  ?" 

'*  Most  assuredly  not,  madam !"  said  the  stately 
Irish  lady  with  marked  emphasis;  "I  belong  to  a 
Church  that  teaches  unlimited  submission  to  the 
Divine  Word,  and  holds  with  St.  Paul  that  women 
should  obey  their  husbands,  and,  moreover,  keep 
silent  in  public  assemblies.  I  see  no  injustice,  there- 
fore, or  oppression,  in  the  custom  which  consigns 


'  •    «■*■' 
>■■"    (V-l*i  ♦,  ... 


.'•■■'•■■■  ^v^yi 

■■■■  ::;:v^«',j,j, 


I . 


'U-u 


■',;    r 


."« ti  jy  If,',  -Si 


WWf 


"i-i:.!-' 


'ill 


130 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


■>'1 


>.;■' 


'■<A 


'   •-■3   >■  ■ 
4.,  ■■>    '.f"?!'!i;' 


(iiii 
ill 


'til 


■•ill 


I'll 

m 
I 


us  women  to  the  shades  of  domestic  life.  1  see  in 
it  rather  a  merciful  dispensation  for  us,  and  a  wise 
provision  of  the  Divine  Kuler  for  the  wants  of  the 
human  family." 

"  A  good  morning,  ladies  !"  said  the  Reverend 
female  with  exceeding  stiffness  and  an  elevation  of 
her  heavy  brows,  "  I  find  we  have  been  guilty  of 
the  folly  reprobated  by  one  of  o^d,  namely,  throiving 
yearls  before  swine.  A  good  morning  to  you  !  Do- 
rothea, let  us  hence  quickly  !" 

The  namesake  of  Mary  Wolstoncrofl  elevated 
herself  as  near  as  she  could  to  Miss  Fireproofa 
shoulder,  and  with  a  look  of  that  belligerent  kind 
commonly  identified  with  daggers^  she  sidled  out  in 
the  wake  of  her  tall  convoy,  Jan  honoring  the  pair 
with  the  same  attention  as  before  during  their 
voyage  to  the  door. 

"  Jan !"  said  his  mistress,  whilst  Bertha  threw 
herself  on  a  sofa  laughing  immoderately,  "  Jan ! 
mind  we  are  not  at  home  to  any  more  of  these 
visitors." 


1 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


131 


Wmm 


-A'/ft'L-'.'*.-.' 


yv"^ 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  SBRKNADE  AND  SOME  NEW  ACQUAINTANCES. 

There  was  one  small  room  in  Ilheinfeldt  house 
fitted  up  as  an  oratory.  It  had  but  one  window., 
and  that  not  large,  piercing  the  wall  at  the  height 
of  several  feet  from  the  floor ;  it  was  an  arched  win- 
dow of  stained  glass,  whose  sombre  tints  cast  a  quiet, 
subdued  light  into  the  little  room,  that  made  even 
the  noontide  hour  soft  and  dreamy  as  the  evening 
twilight.  Under  the  window  was  an  altar-shaped 
table,  surmounted  by  a  marble  slab,  and  on  it  stood 
a  beautiful  statue  of  the  Virgin  with  the  Divine 
Infant  in  her  arms — a  work  of  so  rare  excellence 
that  it  might  have  been  sculptured  by  the  chisel  of 
Canova.  At  the  feet  of  the  statue  was  a  delicate 
vase  of  Sevre  china,  filled  with  the  richly-scented 
flowers  artificially  forced  into  bloom  by  horticultu- 
ral skill,  even  under  the  icy  reign  of  winter,  and  on 
either  side  stood  a  silver  oil-lamp  of  antique  form ; 
on  the  wall  just  beneath  the  window  hung  a  large 
ebony  crucifix  with  the  Sacred  Image  carved  in 
purest  ivory.  Two  paintings  hung  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  room,  one  a  half  length  figure  of  St.  Joseph 
with  the  miraculous  rod  in  his  hand  in  full  blossom, 
the  other  representing  St.  Elizabeth  of  Hungary 
taking  leave  of  her  beloved  spouse  on  his  departure 


K-ir 


...  '',7'J..;p*;;  ,.. 


.  <* 


.  i'  ■■■ 


■'  .9 


'■■■   V  ."^ 


*,.iCk. 


m:^ 


ti"\ 


■'^^UUa- 


■■■^'t'i. 


'4,1' 

(-!; 

i'^'^j'w   ii 

MSI 

'Mm '    -, ' 

,  inlf 

1 

ii 

32 


OLD    AND    KEW  ;    OR 


for  the  Holy  Land.  Two  small  paintings  hung  ob 
cither  side  the  crucifix  above  the  little  altar — one 
M'as  a  head  of  St.  Francis  of  Assissium,  the  other 
of  St.  Agnes  the  Martyr,  both  after  the  manner  oi 
Guido,  probably  copies  of  two  of  his. 

In  front  of  the  altar  were  two  piie-dieus  cush- 
ioned with  plain  crimson  stuff,  and  three  or  four 
chairs  were  placed  along  the  walls,  whilst  in  one 
corner  opposite  the  altar  was  a  large  arm-chair  with 
a  moveable  table-shelf  attached,  on  which  lay  a 
couple  of  small  volumes. 

It  was  the  practice  of  Madam  Von  Wiegel  and 
her  daughter  to  say  their  night-prayers,  including 
the  Rosary,  before  this  little  altar  in  the  oratory. 
At  nine  o*clock  precisely  the  bell  summoned  Jan 
and  Betty  to  assist  in  the  family  devotions,  after 
which  they  were  dismissed  for  the  night,  and  the 
mother  and  daughter  sat  reading  or  conversing  for 
an  hour  or  so  in  the  old  lady's  chamber,  before 
they,  too,  sought  repose. 

On  the  night  following  the  visit  of  the  eccentric 
individuals  described  in  the  last  chapter  the  house 
had  been  long  silent,  and  it  seemed  as  though  all 
elept  unconscious  of  the  lovely  moonlight  that  was 
flooding  the  world  without,  and  struggling  for  ad- 
mission through  every  cranny  of  the  closed  shutters. 
It  was  not  so ;  one  lone  watcher  was  drinking  in 
the  beauty  of  the  night,  and  in  its  deep  tranquillity 
finding  a  balm  for  feverish  agitation.  Bojtha  had 
Bat  with  her  mother  later  than  usual  that  night,  and 


X 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOK. 


133 


(liey  had  been  talking  of  matters  connected  with 
the  daughter's  earlier  life  which  had  brought  a  host  of 
memories  crowding  on  her  mind,  and  raised  a  tumult 
ill  her  heart  which  her  mother  little  dreamed  of. 
Wiien  she  stooped  to  kiss  that  beloved  mother,  as 
usual  after  seeing  her  comfortably  settled  for  the 
ni;j;]it,  an  inward  voice  reproached  her  for  not  con- 
fi<l'.ng  all  to  her  sympathizing  tenderness,  and  she 
felt  as  if  a  barrier  were  raised  up  between  them — 
she  would  have  given  worlds  to  kneel  beside  her 
and  tell  all,  all — but  some  conflicting  motive  coun- 
teracted the  impulse,  and  she  merely  said  "  Good 
niirht,  dear  mother !  and  pleasant  dreanvs !"  and 
closed  the  curtains  with  a  sigh.  Her  mother  opened 
them  aj^ain  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Why,  Bertha !  my  child,  you  are  feverish  !'* 
glie  said ;  "  you  must  take  something." 

"  No,  no,  mother,  no,  no  !"  said  Bertha  forcing  a 
laugh ;  "  sleep  is  the  best  anodyne,  you  know  !  to- 
morrow, with  God's  help,  I  shall  be  quite,  quite  well 
— indeed  I  am  well  now;  your  too  great  anxiety 
about  me  is  apt  to  deceive  you.  Good  night,  and 
try  to  sleep  soon  !" 

Half  an  hour  after  Bertha  was  kneeling  on  one 
of  the  prie-dieus  in  the  oratory,  her  elbows  resting 
on  it,  and  her  face  buried  in  her  clasped  hands — 
while  the  moonlight  streaming  in  through  the  richly- 
colored  window-panes  diffused  a  warm,  picturesque 
iiue  over  her  statue-like  figure,  the  altar,  with  it-i 
graceful  accompaniments,  resting  in  partial  shade. 


i    ' 

h 

• 

i:/^.; 

>' ' 

•' 

,  {  .  '}>^''A 


r   ' 


'.  .A, 


V'--  ■. 


i-   ■■v'-'v;''.' 


'"Vj:    .. 


\l  ■'. 


rill 

'♦  , 

.  sa 

•* 

-II 

't 

*.    . '  '■ 

■  i''* 

':;  ; 

''I 

• 

} 

,  •' 

■'•r^'  •  ^  'l 


4il 


134 


OLD    AND    NRW  ;    OH, 


Long  and  silently  she  prayed  in  the  depth  of  hei 
own  heart;  no  words  broke  the  holy  calm  of  the 
hour  and  the  scene,  but  at  times  Bertha  would 
raise  her  face  and  fix  a  glance  of  almost  passionate 
supplication  on  the  sweet  foce  of  Mary,  where  it 
seeni  ed  to  look  on  her  through  the  shades.  And 
Bertha's  own  face  was  a  miracle  of  beauty  as  the 
deep  emotions  of  her  soul  passed  over  it,  and  the 
thoughts  shut  up  within  her  heart  like  jewels  in  a 
cask  ot,  flashed  from  her  speaking  eyes. 

"  Mother  most  mild!"  she  at  length  softly  mur- 
mured, "yow  know  how  I  have  struggled  to  free  my 
he  jirt  from  this  thrall — yaU'  know  how  many  weary 
hours  I  have  watched  and  prayed — ay!  even  here — 
\A  ith  none  but  God  and  thee  to  hear  me,  and  the 
starry  eyes  of  heaven  looking  down  into  my  heart 
of  hearts.  What  I  might  not  tell  my  earthly  mother 
I  have  told  thee,  comfort  of  the  afflicted,  and  how 
was  it — oh  gracious  mother,  how  was  it,  that  even 
in  answer  to  my  prayer — came  a  whisper  of  hope  to 
my  troubled  spirit  that  stilled  its  tumult  and  raised 
my  drooi'insr  heart  above  its  own  sorrow  ?  Whence 
comes  that  voice  ? — whence  the  ray  of  light  that 
foint  and  far  gleams  like  a  star  through  the  dark- 
ness?*' She  had  scarcely  murmured  these  words 
when  a  strain  of  music  broke  soft  and  sweet  on  the 
stilly  air  floating  around  as  if  spirits  were  breathing 
the  melting  tones. 

Bertha  started  to  her  feet,  and  shook  back  the 
stray  tresses  of  her  hair  which  had  fallen  around 


«-   IT         •  ■    '      .      «   ■ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FaSIIIOH. 


135 


h'.- 


her  face.  She  stood  in  the  attUiule  of  one  whoso 
whole  henrt  and  soul  were  stirred,  whose  every 
faculty  was  absorbed  in  hearing,  the  rich  color 
coining  and  going  on  her  check  like  the  first  tints 
of  the  rosv  dawn. 

"That  air!"  she  murmured,  "his  fiivorite,  and 
the  flute,  too  ! — are  those  tones  of  earthly  origin,  or 
who  at  this  lone  hour  can  breathe  them  here  ?  It  may 
be  a  dream  !" — she  muttered,  "  but  if  it  be,  I  would 
never  awaken  to  cold  reality  !"  And  moving  a  step 
or  two  back  she  sank  into  the  old  arm-chair  in  the 
corner  and  gave  herself  up  to  the  entn*ncing  spell 
of  the  moment. 

The  air  was  that  so  dear  to  Scottish  hearts  and 

to  lovers  of  true  music  in  every  land,  the  exquisite 

air  of  "Lochaber,"  than  which  a  sweeter  or  more 

thrilling  never  came  from  the  harp-strings  of  ancient 

days: 

"  Farewell  to  Lochaber  and  farewell  to  my  Jean 
Where  lieartsome  wi'  thee  I  hae  mony  a  day  been, 
For  Lochaber  no  more  for  Lochaber  no  more 
I'll  maybe  return  to  Lochaber  no  more  !" 

These  words  of  the  old  ballia  were  echoing 
through  Bertha's  heart  with  every  note  of  the 
music,  calling  up  memories  long  repressed,  and, 

*•  Waking  thoughts  that  long  had  slept," 
till  the  strength  of  her  stern  will  was  subdued,  and 
8he  burst  into  a  passionate  flood  of  tears  murmur- 
kig  a  name  that  had  not  passed  her  lips  for  years. 

All  at  once,  when  the  sweet  sad  melody  seemed 


'  t 


rj.*- 


>■ 


♦  :*-'' 


.•.-yjT— 


.•■I* 


■      '.4 

I      ' 


l« 
•it 


')'» 


m 


i'^  J 


I 

.::S 
I 


iliiii 


136 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR,   • 


dying  away  in  a  plaintive  cadence  on  the  calm  night 
air,  the  music  broke  into  a  lighter  measure  which 
Bertha  was  not  slow  in  recognizing — it  was  the 
heart-stirring  Irish  air  to  which  the  genius  of  Moore 
has  given  fitting  expression  in  "I'd  Mourn  the  Hopeii 
that  leave  me."  And  if  ever  music  breathed  a  hu- 
man soul — a  human  heart — it  was  in  those  wild  im- 
passioned tones,  sad,  yet  hopefully  sad. 

Bertha  knelt  a  moment  and  offered  up  a  fervent 
prayer  before  the  image  of  the  merciful  Mother, 
then  softly  closing  the  oratory,  hastened  to  a  win- 
dow at  the  end  of  the  adjoining  corridor  to  see 
whether  she  could  get  a  sight  of  the  minstrel,  who, 
by  this  time,  was  making  her  heart-strings  quiver 
with  the  plaintive  melody  of  Lover's  beautiful  bal- 
bd,  "  True  Love  can  ne'er  Forget."  The  touching 
associations  connected  with  this  lay — founded  as  it  is 
on  (Jarolan's  romantic  passion  for  Bridget  Cruise — 
the  love-breathing  notes — the  quiet  beauty  of  "  the 
stilly  night,"  and  the  visions  starting  into  life  at 
every  note,  all  conspired  to  fill  Bertha's  heart  with 
the  sweetest  and  tenderest  emotions,  and  to  strike 
a  gush  of  feeling  from  the  inmost  recesses  of  her 
being.  She  felt  happy,  she  knew  not  why,  for  the 
memories  evoked  were  more  of  sorrow  than  of  joy. 
She  felt  that  it  was  no  stranger  whose  music  could 
thus  set  her  heart  throbbing,  and  she  wished  above 
all  things  to  get  a  sight  of  him  without  being  licr- 
«elf  seen.  _ 

Slowly  aud  soflly  she  opened   the  shutter  just 


■^,t 


■  :i 


m 


•i  »■' 


TASTE    VERSUS    PASUION. 


137 


gufScient  to  enable  her  to  glance  through ;  the 
srreen  blinds  were  closed  outside  so  that  she  had 
no  difficulty  in  taking  observations  unseen  by  any 
one  without,  but  the  music  had  ceased  and  nothing 
that  had  life  met  her  eyes — nothing  but  the  moon- 
light sky  and  the  sleeping  earth  and  the  spectral 
branches  of  the  tall  linden,  stiff  and  stark  as  the 
skeleton  of  some  huge  Titan  of  the  elder  world. 

The  musician  was  nowhere  to  be  seen ;  but  how 
could  he  have  disappeared  so  suddenly  ?  \Va,s  it, 
then,  a  dream,  Bertha  asked  herself,  and  her  heart 
grew  cold  within  her  as  the  deep  hush  of  midnight 
settled  down  unbroken  by  any  sound. 

"  It  ivas,  then,  a  d  eam,'*  she  murmured  sadly  to 
herself  as  she  closed  the  shutters  and  slowly  paced 
the  corridor  leading  to  her  own  chamber;  "and  yet 
how  coidd  it  be  ?  Am  I  not  avv^ake  ?  No !  it  could 
not  have  been  an  illusion  of  the  senses — I  will  rather 
believe  it  some  spirit  of  the  air  sent  to  cheer  my 
weary  heart  w^ith  strains  suggestive  of  happiness  I— 
happiness !"  she  repeated,  as  she  entered  her  sleep- 
ing apartment  and  carefully  closed  the  door,  "  oh  ! 
such  happiness  is  not  for  me ;  why  should  I  suffer 
my  fancy  to  run  away  with  m^'  '<ason? — my  happi- 
ness is  henceforward  to  consist  in  making  my  mo- 
ther, my  dear  mother,  happy,  and  doing  the  will  of 
God.  Away,  then,  with  idle  dreams — elves,  or 
spirits,  or  whatever  you  may  be  that  played  me  such 
a  trick,  I  defy  your  malice — ye  cheat  me  not  again  1" 
Btill  she  murmured  softly  to  herself* 


->■;.' 


'•     ■ 


:.:'•• -^l 


.^^ 


T-* 


'i- 


"f:r- 


.  i.;Ji= 


138 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OB, 


"  And  when  all  of  this  life  is  ^one- 
Ev'n  the  hope,  lingering;  now, 
Like  the  last  of  the  leaver  left  on 

Autumn's  sere  and  faded  bcugh — 
'Twill  seem  as  still  those  friends  were  msftT, 

Who  loved  me  in  youth's  early  day, 
If  in  that  parting  hour  I  hear 

The  same  sweet  notes,  and  die  away— 
To  that  song  of  the  olden  time, 

Breath'd — like  Hope's  farewell  strain- 
To  say,  in  some  brighter  clime, 
Lift!  and  youth  will  shine  again  !'  ♦ 
We  know  not  whether  Bertha's  sleep  was  vi  itcd 
Ihat  night  by  visions  of  that  "  brighter  clime,"  or 
whether  "  tir'd  nature's  sweet  restorer"  came  at  all 
to  soothe  her  chafed  and  jaded  mind,  but  certain  it 
is  that  when  she  entered  her  mother's  room  next 
morning  she  looked  like  one  who  had  enjoyed  a 
good  night's  rest,  her  step  had  the  buoyancy  and 
her  eyes  the  brightness  of  earlier  days. 

Her  mother  noticed  the  change  and  said  :  "  I  am 
glad  to  see  you  looking  so  well  this  morning,  my 
dear  Bertha !  I  think  you,  too,  must  have  heard  the 
serenade  that  gave  my  old  heart  so  much  pleasure. 
Or  did  I  but  dream  that  I  heard  some  one  playing 
such  delicious  old  melodies  on  the  flute  ?" 

"  If  you  were  dreaming,  mother,  then  I  was  dream- 
ing, too,"  said  Bertha  turning  away  to  arrange  her 
mother's  toilet.     "  /  heard  the  music  of  which  you 
npeak." 
"  Then   you   heard  *  Lochaber*  and  '  I'd  Mour? 
*  Moore's  Ballads  and  Songs,  &-c. 


■       » 

If- 

> 

Jii 

1  .^ 

TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


139 


the  Hopes  that  Leave  Me,'  and — what  was  the 
other  ?  if  I  knew  it  at  the  time  I  do  not  remember 
what  it  was,  though  I  have  an  idea  that  it  sounded 
familiar." 

"  You  must  have  been  in  that  blissful  state 
between  sleeping  and  waking  when  music  falls  like 
a  spell  on  the  senses,"  said  Bertha  evading  the  ques- 
tion. "  The  first  time  I  heard  The  Flowers  o'  th6 
Forest  it  was  at  the  dead  of  night  when  the  moon- 
beams were  sleeping  on  Avon  Dhu's  stream  beneath 
the  castle  walls  through  a  casement  of  which  I  was 
looking  forth  with  my  cousin  Eveleen — we  were 

spending  a  summer  with  Lady  EUersly  at  

Castle  and  had  lingered  by  the  window  enjoying  the 
beauty  of  earth  and  sky  and  water — you  know  the 
inexpressible  pathos  of  that  old  air,  the  plaint  of  the 
bereaved  Scottish  maidens  for  the  chivalry  of  their 
land  swept  away  on  the  bloody  field  of  Flodden — 
you  may  imagine,  then,  how  deeply  it  sank  into  my 
heart  when  it  came  to  my  ear  for  the  first  time  over 
the  still  waters  of  that  lovely  river  at  an  hour 
when  all  the  v/orld  is,  or  is  supposed  to  be,  *  sleep- 
ing'— oh !  those  were  sounds  never,  never  to  be 
torejotten,  and  I  have  loved  the  air  ever  since  for  I 
never  hear  it  without  feeling  again  the  charm  ol 
that  moment.'* 

"  Was  it  a  flute  played  it  then  ?'  asked  her 
mother. 

"  No,  it  was  a  clarionet — more  .effective,  you  know 
on  the  water."  ... 

•  / 


^^•vH : 


.  »■, 


»'  > 


":  4. 

•i 

■  ■  ..'<  ■■ 

•  Nil 

■tli  < 

iij;!"?^ 

^ 

'  ,i^'jt 

:|' 

it 

(,*|, 

ili'i; 


uo 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


All  this  time  the  business  in  hands  had  been  pro* 
gressing,  and  BeiTha  had,  as  she  intended,  diverted 
her  mother's  thoughts  i'»to  a  somewhat  different 
channel.  She  took  care  that  the  subject  of  the  noc- 
turnal music  did  not  again  come  on  the  tapis^  till  tli« 
toilet  being  completed,  both  ladies  repaired  to  the 
{>ratory  to  perform  their  morning  devotions — they 
i<  :  at  too  great  a  distance  from  any  Church  to 
have    he  privilege  of  hearing  Mass  on  week-days. 

Breakfast  was  over,  and  the  old  lady,  seated  in  her 
arm-chair  near  the  fire  in  the  sitting-room  or  parlor 
where  we  first  introduced  her  to  the  reader,  was  oc- 
cupied with  a  volume  of  Baron  Henrion's  Missions 
CcUholiques,  whilst  Bertha  sat  sewing  at  some  dis- 
tance. The  door  opened  and  Jan  made  his  ap- 
pearance. He  stood  still,  and  Bertha  raising  her 
eyes  asked  him  what  he  wanted.  He  held  up  some- 
thing white  that  appeared  to  be  a  handkerchief. 

Unwilling  to  have  her  mother  disturbed,  Bertha 
hastened  to  take  the  handkerchief,  supposing  it  one 
of  her  ov/n  or  her  mother's.  A  glance  convinced 
her  that  it  belonged  to  neither,  and  she  looked  in- 
quiringly at  Jan. 

He  was  beginning  with  "  I  found  it,  Miss  Ber 

tha ! "  when  the  young  lady,  having  glanced  at 

certain  initials  n^arked  on  a  corner  of  the  fine  cam- 
bric handkerchief,  quietly  put  it  in  her  pocket  and 
motioned  for  Jan  to  leave  the  room,  which  he  cMd, 
wondering  much  that  Miss  Von  Wiegel  should  so 
far  honor  a  strango   handkerchief  whi'<jh  he  had 


'I 


iwn 


TASTE    VERS\rs    FASHIOV. 


141 


found  near  the  avenue-gate.  He  would  have  won- 
dered more  at  Bertha's  coolness  had  he  known  aL ; 
but  Jan's  discernment  was  not  of  the  sharpest,  as 
the  reader  may  probably  have  discovered,  and  ho 
did  not  even  notice  the  visible  tremor  of  her  hand, 
or  the  eagerness  with  which  she  snatched  the  hand- 
kerchief and  placed  it  out  of  sight. 

When  he  told  Betty  of  what  had  happened,  her 
woman's  wit  was  not  slow  in  detecting  something 
out  of  the  common  range  of  occurrences,  trifling  as 
the  incident  was;  but  she  had  sense  enough  to  know 
that  people  in  their  condition  must  not  always  tell 
what  they  see  or  what  they  suspect,  so  she  told  Jan 
to  say  nothing  about  the  handkerchief  to  the  old 
madam ;  she  supposed  it  belonged  to  Mr.  De  Witt 
or  some  of  the  other  gentlemen,  and  that  Miss 
Bertha  would  know  by  the  letters  whose  it  was,  and 
give  it  to  the  owner  herself 

"  I  tink  you're  one  great  big  fool,  Betty !"  said  the 
polite  husband;  "  Mr.  De  Witt  was  not  here  yesh- 
terday,  or  oder  gentlenians  no  more—'* 

"  Maybe  it  blew  in,  then,  off  the  road,"  suggested 
Betty,  sadly  at  a  loss. 

"How  could  it  blow,  when  dere  was  not  de  least 
little  bit  of  wind  all  day  long  ?" 

"  Wind  or  no  wind,  I  tell  you  it  came  from  out- 
side," said  Betty  in  a  tone  that  admitted  no  more 
discussion ;  "  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  say  nothing 
about  it  to  the  old  madam." 

"  Der  deyvil !  you  take  mo  for  a  fool  like  your. 


'\  •  ■  ■  ■  .  ■»  ■ 


';t. 


£'::-'{^ 


■ .  t.    \ 

./.■i-''.i". 


i 


w 


'./!,■•■ 


'!'». 


142 


.  ■  '1 

''■    :>  ''.. 


■«  :  ■'' 


I 


,^,  •' 


OLD   AND    NEW  j    OR, 


self?  as  if  anybody  ever  goes  for  to  tell  her  about 
such  small  little  tings  !" 

The  door-bell  rang,  and  Jan  hurried  off  to  answef 
the  peremptory  summons.  He  ushered  into  the 
j.arlor  a  stout,  elderly  gentleman,  and  a  pale  but 
very  pretty  young  lady. 

Their  appearance  seemed  to  give  pleasure  to 
those  within,  and  Bertha  came  forward  smiling, 
with  both  hands  outstretched,  which  the  gentleman 
was  not  slow  to  take.  He  then  proceeded  to  shake 
hands  with  Madam  Von  Wiegel  who  seemed  equally 
gl'  d  to  see  him.  The  pale  girl,  his  daughter,  bright- 
ened up  as  Bertha  kissed  her  cheek  and  led  her  to 
her  mother. 

"  And  so  you've  got  back  again  to  us,  Mr.  Mur- 
ray !"  said  Bertha  sitting  down  by  her  young  friend 
on  a  sofa,  "and  dear  Alice  too,  looking  so  very 
much  better  1" 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?"  questioned  the  anxious 
fether  fixing  his  eyes  on  his  daughter's  face,  over 
which  a  delicate  bloom  v/as  dilFused,  partly  by  the 
reddish  brown  shade  of  the  curtains,  partly  by  the 
pleasure  of  what  was  to  her,  too,  a  joyful  meeting. 
"Well!  I  dfcciare  she  is  looking  better,  thank  God 
for  it !"  Then  with  an  increased  vivacity  he  w  ent  on 
"  Back  !  to  be  sure  I've  got  back,  and  little  Alice  ha«§ 
got  back,  and  somebody  else  has  got  back,  too  ! — 
ha!  ha!  Miss  Bertha!  that  brings  the  blood  to  your 
check — does  it  not,  madam?"  addressing  the   old 


•'■;';V'5i?iM? 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


143 


>■:,•; 


lady  who  sat  looking  and  listening  with  a  pleased 
smile  on  her  aged  features. 

*'  Pray  don't  say  yes,  mother  !  whatever  you  may 
think  /"  said  Bertha  with  a  merry  laugh ;  "  it"  you 
do  I  shall  never  hear  the  end  of  it !  But  why  didn't 
your  somebody  come  with  you  ?" 

There  it  is  you  see,  Madam  Von  Wiegel !"  said 
the  light-hearted  old  gentleman,  his  face  brimful 
of  good  humor ;  "  you  see  she  don't  care  a  rush  for 
Alice  or  me  so  long  as  Robert  didn't  come  to  re- 
port himself  in  person !" 

"  You  do  yourself  and  Alice  great  injustice,"  said 
Bertha  somewhat  m  >re  seriously,  "  and  me,  too, — I 
am  always  glad  to  see  you  both,  though  I  do  not  deny 
but  I  should  have  liked  to  see  Robert,  too " 

"  Well  that's  frank  and  honest,  now !"  said  Mr. 
Murray  taking  out  his  snuff-box,  and  aftet*  tapping 
it  smartly  on  the  lid,  handing  it  to  the  old  lady  who 
took  a  pinch  and  bowed  her  acknowledgment. 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Bertha ;  *'  I  hope  it  is  no  harm 
to  confess  that  I  feel  almost  the  same  sisterly  affec- 
tion for  Robert  as  I  do  for  my  dear  Alice  ?*' 

"  Sisterly^  eh  ?"  said  the  old  gentleman  fixing  his 
eye  on  her  with  a  most  humorous  expression  of 
scrutiny.  "Well!  well!  never  mind — sisterly  or 
brotherly  or  what  you  will,  settle  it  between  you 
when  you  meet — and  that  will  be " 

"  How  soon  ?"  asked  Bertha,  exf'hanging  a  smile 
»Fith  Alice. 


-.^lii 


■■■■♦f-f'«S 


W 


W:k 


It-- 


m:'^-- 


'^■! 


i'--> 


■^' 


144 


PLD  AND  Nrw  ;  Oh, 


,  . 

.'  ■'■ 

'%\ 

A 

• 

•f"' 

'i!  .  : 

^ 

'••-, 

.■     f  .' 

1: 

\H 

'i 

■  'A 

■        (■■I'lil 

•  ■' 

■i 

,  ■;  ■  '  i 

r*  H 

'.    '?  ' 

J 

„1 

J-'"'". 

■'l«t„ 

'■'iP 


"Oh!  some  day  before  midsummer! — ha!  hil 
ha!     That's  good,  isn't  it?" 

"  I'll  have  nothing  more  to  say  to  you,  sir !"  said 
Bertha,    "  so   you  will   please   turn    your  attention 
elsewhere.     My  mother    has    little    reaso^n    to   be 
obliged  to  you  for  neglecting  her  so  long  and 
want  to  talk  to  Alice." 

So  saying  she  took  her  young  friend's  hand  and 
led  her  to  a  distant  window  wh-ere  they  placed  them- 
selves on  a  cushioned  seat  within  the  deep  recess. 

Bertha  had  much  to  ask  and  Alice  much  to  tell 
of  the  sunny  skies  and  magnolia  groves  and  per- 
fumed breezes  of  the  South,  for  her  father  had  taken 
her  to  Cuba  to  spend  the  winter-months,  fearing  the 
effect  of  northern  frosts  on  her  delicate  frame, 
already  weakened  by  disease.  She  spoke  with  en- 
thusiasm of  the  gay  and  graceful  hospitality  of  the 
Cuban  Spaniards  and  the  friendships  she  had  formed, 
and  the  pleasant  acquaintances  she  had  made  during 
her  four  months'  stay  in  the  neighborhood  of  Havana. 

"  But  see  how  I  run  on,  my  dear  Miss  Von 
Wiegel !"  v 

"Bertha!  if  you  please.  Miss  Murray!  I  shall  not 
vote  for  another  Cuban  visit  if  this  one  is  to  have 
the  effect  of  formalizing  my  little  Alice !" 

"Pray  excuse  me!"  said  Alice  with  a  look  of 
eiucere  affection  in  her  mild  blue  eyes  as  she  met  the 
reproachful  glance  of  Bertha,  "  I  had  forgotten  your 
kind  permission " 

"  Permission  !"  said  Bertha  laughing,  "  why  it  if 


TASTE    VER.^rS    FASHIOK 


145 


.  '>■;, 


vorp*^  and  worse  you  are  growing.  But,  nevei 
mind,  we  sliall  soon  be  all  right  again — what  were 
you  going  to  say  to  Miss  Von  Wiegel,  when  /  in- 
terrupted you?" 

"  Will  you  Ibrgive  me  if  I  say  it  ?"  Bertha  nodded 
and  smiled.  "  Well !  I  thought — that  is  I  fancied— 
that  something  must  have  occurred  since  I  left  to 
ruffle  the  calm  surface  of  my  dear  Bertha's  mind?" 

Bertha  started — her  face  was  scarlet  in  a  moment 
— she  bit  her  lip  till  it  was  colorless,  then  smiled, 
but  her  smile  was  not  natural,  and  the  gentle  Alice, 
seeing  the  effect  of  her  question,  was  sorry  she  had 
asked  it.  But  Bertha  was  calm  asjain  in  a  moment, 
and,  tapping  Alice  playfully  on  the  cheek,  asked  in 
a  low  voice  what  grounds  she  had  for  such  an  out- 
of-the-way  idea. 

"  I  can  liardly  tell  you  that,"  said  Alice,  casting 
her  eyes  down  as  if  to  avoid  looking  in  Bertha's 
face,  "  but  it  seems  to  nie — perhaps  it  is  only  fancy 
— that  there  is  a  sort  of  artificial  gaiety  put  on — as 
if  to  hide  somethiner — in  short,  I  find  vour  man- 
ner  very  different  from  its  usual  calmness — and — 
and- 


M 


"  Come,  out  with  it ! — you  mean  to  say  hauteur — 
Nest-ce  pas,  ma  chere  ?" 

*'  Not  exactly  that " 

"  But  something  very  like  it — well !  be  it  so — but 
this  change — is  it  for  the  better  or  worse  ? — am  I 
more  or  less  loveable  ? — more  or  less  like  the  Bertha 
you  would  wish  to  see  rae?" 


1  • 


.■V 


■    ■  •■'■**• '3'  ■    1.     '- 


'Jiir.!: 


■  ...  *,  •'■if 'v.   -. 
■  ♦t*"^' 


.4 


■  •W 


.»i;i 


iv. 


;l 


,  >!::■■ 
;wi!; 


]I6 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


Alice  raised  her  eyes  and  fixed  them  on  Bertha's 
face  for  a  moment,  then  dropping  them  again  she 
shook  her  head  and  sighed. 

"  So  you  won't  tell  me  what  you  think  ?"  said 
Bertha  with  that  assumed  gaiety  which  rung  so  hol- 
low on  the  ear  of  her  friend  ;  "  well !  I  can  only  say 
that  your  ladyship's  imagination  is  running  away 
with  you  since  your  visit  to  the  South.  Ailons  done : 
I  see  your  father  is  on  the  move.  Courage,  ma  belle 
amie !  there's  no  change  in  l^ertha's  heart.'''' 

Alice  smiled  her  thanks,  and  they  hastened  to 
rejoin  the  old  lady  and  gentleman. 

"  Well !  young  ladies,  I  hope  you  feel  better  after 
your  tete-a-tete?^''  said  Mr".  Murraiy  standing  up. 

"  Very  much  better,  thank  you!  How  is  it  with 
you  and  my  mother  ?" 

"  We're  as  merry  as  crickets — do  you  want  to 
know  what  we've  been  talking  about  ?" 

"  I'm  not  at  all  curious,"  said  Bertha  with  a  smile, 
"  but  I  know  who  u,"  she  added  dropping  her  voice 
to  reach  only  Alice's  ear. 

"  You're  a  disrespectful  young — ahem  !— young 
Indy  !  but  never  mind,  you'll  meet  your  match  some 
of  these  days — won't  she,, Madam  Von  Wiegel?" 

The  old  lady  smiled  and  said,  "  I  hope  so,  Mr. 
Murray !"  and  then  the  visitors  took  their  leave, 
promising  to  dine  at  Rheinfeldt  House  on  the  fol 
lowing  Sunday. 

Leaving  the  mother  and  daughter  to  talk  over 
the  agreeable  surprise  they  had  received,  and  the 


\mm 


\A,t 


s^ 


Wfp^ 


•  V 


Taste  versus  fashion. 


147 


favorable  effect  of  the  mild  southerti  winter  on 
Alice's  health,  we  will  take  the  liberty  of  making 
our  readers  somewhat  better  acquainted  with  those 
'lew  friends  of  ours,  whom  I  hope  to  make  tJieirs. 

The  family  at  present  consisted  of  Randal  Mur« 
ray,  the  hearty  old  gentleman  already  introduced 
to  the  reader,  Robert,  his  son,  a  fine  spirited  young 
fellow  some  years  over  twenty,  and  our  pretty  gentle 
Alice,  who  was  the  delight  and  solace  of  her  father's 
heart  as  Robert  was  its  pride. 

The  old  gentleman  had  emigrated  to  A-jierica 
with  his  young  and  blooming  bride  when  he  himself 
was  in  the  hey-day  of  youth,  more  than  a  quarter  of 
a  century  before.  He  had  been  brought  up  to  the 
mercantile  business  in  Dublin,  where  he  had  served 
his   time     in  wholesale    and   retail   grocery  in 

Thomas  street.  Active  and  energetic,  and  perse- 
vering withal,  Randal  Murray,  with  the  advantages 
of  a  plain  solid  education,  had  worked  his  way  up- 
wards, esteemed  as  a  man,  respected  as  a  trader, 
and  finally,  honored  as  a  great  man  on  Change. 
Unfortunately,  his  loving  and  beloved  Mary  did  not 
live  to  share  his  prosperity ;  the  clouds  that  darken 
usually  around  the  first  years  "i  he  emigrant  in  a 
strange  land  threw  a  blighting  shade  on  the  timid 
girl  who  had  left  her  father's  comfortable  homestead 
on  the  plain**  of  Kildare  "  to  tempt  the  danj^erous 
main"  and  che  trials  and  vicissitudes  of  an  emi- 
grant's life  beyond  seas  with  Randal.  Consumption 
was  not  slow  in  setting  its  seal  on  her  so  lately 


•i      , 


f   J 


■■  i<-:'. 


* 


V  -.;*  i♦•/■■■ 


w 


"'  .V  '^ 


:> 


/"^ 


UR 


OLD    ANT)    NF.W  ;    OR, 


»■  ■      " 


rMW"^ 


** 


blooming  cheek.  Slie  died,  leaving  Alice  but  two 
years  old,  and  Robert  some  six  or  seven.  This  waa 
a  severe  blow  to  Randal  Murray,  but  vas  not  the 
man  to  give  way  under  misfortune,  b^  ne  shook  off 
the  heavy  load  of  grief^ — at  least  externally — secured 
a  staid  and  sober  matron  to  take  charge  of  his  house 
and  give  the  children  the  first  rudiments  of  education, 
then  went  on  with  his  business  with  the  best  heart 
he  could.  Ten  or  twelve  years  of  assiduous  appli- 
cation had  raised  him  to  the  rank  of  an  eminent 
merchant,  as  before  indicated ;  his  son,  after  gradu- 
ating with  honor  at  the  only  Catholic  College  which 
the  State  of  New  York  could  then  boast,  chose  the 
profession  of  arms,  and  entered  r  Vest  Point. 
Unwilling  as  he  was  to  part  with  Aliv..  .  i  any  length 
of  time,  Mr.  Murray  had  been  induced  by  some  friends 
in  the  South  to  send  her  to  Maryland  to  be  educated 
by  the  Sisters  of  Charity,  at  Emmettsburg.  Under 
their  maternal  car©  and  judicious  training  Alice 
Murray  had  grown  up  to  womanhood,  and  returned 
to  her  father  after  seven  years  of  absence,  as  *'  pure 
and  gentle-hearted"  and,  withal,  as  well  skilled  in 
all  womanly  accomplishments  as  even  his  dof.ting 
heart  could  wish. 

Strange  to  say  it  was  at  Emmettsburg  the  Murray s 
and  Von  Wiegels  had  first  become  acquainted,  when 
only  a  few  months  before  the  Ritter's  death,  the 
latter  family  had  madfe  a  tour  through  the  Southern 
States  in  accordance  with  the  advice  of  the  old 
gentleman's  physician.     In  the  parlor  of  the  Con* 


»^1!' 


TASTF    VKRSUS    FASHIOV. 


U?> 


h.-i   ,   } 


vent,  when  they  visited  that  venerable  institution, 
the  Von  Wiegels  were  introduced  to  Mr.  RandiU 
Murray  as  "  a  gentleman  from  New  York,"  and  also 
to  his  amiable  daughter,  then  a  boarder  in  the  Con- 
vent, and  looking  inexpressibly  lovely  in  the  taste- 
ful summer-costume  of  the  school. 

An  acquaintance  so  auspiciously  formed  soon 
ripened  into  friendship,  the  tastes  and  habits  of 
both  families  being  much  alike,  and  their  sentiments 
congenial  enough  to  bind  them  to  each  other.  Mr. 
Murray  had  retired  from  business  a  little  before 
Alice  came  home  liom  school,  and  had  purchased  a 
handsome  but  unostentatious  cottage  within  ten 
minutes'  walk  of  Rheinfeldt  House.  So  now  having 
introduced  the  Murrays  and  further  commended 
them  to  the  kind  attention  of  our  readers,  we  leavt 
Ihem  for  the  present. 


>.,' 


J-V 


mmm 


'^'il^>  " 


-Xit^'"  ■  '■■•' 


^&:' 


150 


OLD    AND    NEW  J    OR, 


n  ■: 


'    ■  *>  - : 
■  I 


.I*-*'' 


iHli 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AN    EPOCH    IN    THE    GALLAGHER   ANNALS. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Samuel  C.  Fogarty  sought  and  soon 
found  an  eligible  residence  far  enough  up  town  to 
be  at  least  on  the  outskirts  of  the  fashionable  world 
— within  the  Celestial  Empire  of  fashiondom — and 
safe  from  the  incursions  of  "  outside  barbarians" 
abiding  in  that  vulgar  region  ''  down  town."  Hav* 
ing  consoled  our  readers  with  this  comfortable 
assurance  we  shall  leave  the  young  couple  to  the 
"  delightful  task"  of  furnishing,  and  otherwise  deco- 
rating their  domicile  in  Tenth  street,  and  return  to 
see  how  the  world  has  been  using  Mrs.  Gallagher 
and  her  five  remaining  daughters  since  we  last 
enjoyed  their  amiable  society. 

"  The  bridal  is  over,  the  guests  are  all  gone," 
the  wedding  tour  has  been  completed,  the  recep- 
tion, with  its  attendant  ball  and  supper,  arc  num- 
bered with  the  past,  and  the  Gallaghers,  minus 
Eliza,  have  settled  down  again  into  the  dull  routine 
of  daily  life.  But  life  is  never  at  a  stand-still  with 
the  Gallaghers  ;  they  are  always  in  pursuit  of  some 
brilliant  phantom  to  which  distance  lends  enchant, 
ment.  The  special  object  of  present  pursuit  will  bo 
best  understood  by  the  conversation  in  which  the 
family  were  engaged  on  t'je  SaMwday  night  when 


i  11 


i«;. 


•v.- 


!■ 


wwm 


•  •   .1  ■•■■■«; 


i-rVJ: 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


151 


we  tase  tfie  liberty  of  introducing  the  leader  to 
iheir  front  basement  at  the  unseasonable  hour  of 
eleven,  when  they  were  all  assembled  round  the 
cheerful  blaze. 

Tom  was  in  high  spirits.  He  had  only  got 
home  from  the  market  a  little  before ;  butch- 
ers' stalls  being  kept  open  later  on  Saturday 
night  in  New  York  as  elsewhere;  he  was  in  high 
spirits,  as  I  said,  because  his  receipts  that  day  had 
bo^n  unusually  large,  so  that  even  Atty  Garrell  had 
been  moved  to  exuberant  mirth  while  master  and 
man  counted  the  proceeds  of  the  day's  business 
before  they  left  the  market.  Tom,  therefore,  was 
decidedly  "jolly,"  and  none  the  less  bo,  it  may  be 
presumed,  for  the  tumbler  of  punch,  possessing  all 
the  qualities  attributed  to  "  ladies'  punch,"  being 
"  sweet,  strong  and  warm,"  as  Tom  himself  averred 
with  an  approving  smack  of  the  lips,  and  a  corres- 
ponding shake  of  the  head.  Between  his  good  luck 
and  his  good  supper,  and  his  good  glass  of  "  toddy," 
Tom  Gallagher,  then,  was  aecidedly  in  good  humor, 
of  which  agreeable  fact  his  observant  spouse  and 
her  five  able  assistants  were  not  slow  to  take 
advantage. 

'*  Dear  me,  girls  !"  said  Mrs.  Gallagher,  and  she 
fetched  a  heavy  sigh,  "  how  lonet ome  we  are  since 
Eliza  went  away  from  us  !" 

Of  course  the  girls  assented  with  five  sighs  duly 
responsive. 

"Ma^be  you  doa't  gf    out  enough,"   observed 


..     ..  -...v: •■■■••;• 

■  '.t 


'■^'^W 


.t. 


♦  >>i  ■  '■  '-:'^-i^' 


pit     '  ■   •     i'yy '    li 


»ti;^'- 


m 


% 


t 


.'"» 


A. 


;^  ;■ 


'm  ■': 


,  .♦ 


it'^-iw 


^!ii 


J!  <■ 


1 

.. 

-y  '^•'. 

■•  j; 

"  ,  ^ 

1   .    ■   ; 

■i^S*' 


152 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


Tom   good-naturedly ;    "  I'm  afraid   you  keep  the 
house  too  close,  all  of  you." 

"  Well !  I  don't  know  but  we  do,  Tom !"  with  a 
thoughtful  look  into  t^'3  recesses  of  the  fire  ;  "  thes 
poor  girls  are  so  busy  most  of  the  day  that  they 
hardly  ever  go  out  at  all" —  .  good  woman  forgot 
the  little  promenade  which  the  "  poor  girls"  man- 
aged to  take  every  fine  afternoon  on  the  sunny  side 
of  Broadway,  to  the  great  bewilderment,  doubtless, 
of  the  excruciatingly-fine  young  gentleman  whose 
business  it  is  to  keep  sentry  on  that  beat  during  the 
hours  of  fine  afternoons  when  fashionable  young 
ladies  are  on  exhibition. 

"  They  hardly  ever  go  out,  at  all,"  said  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher compassionately,  "for,  you  know,  the  wea  her 
is  so  changeable  that  we  can  hardly  count  on  two 
fine  days  running,  and  when  a  fine  day  does  come, 
maybe  it*s  just  the  day  they  can't  get  out,  poor 
things !" 

Tom  hardly  knew  what  consolation  to  offer,  but 
he  ventured  at  last  to  suggest  that  when  the  weather 
wasn't  good  for  walking  they  might  go  for  a  ride 
in  the  cars  or  the  stages,  or  out  for  a  sail  to  Staten 
Island,  or  Williamsburgh,  or  Hunter's  Point,  or  some 
place  else — they  h'^d  plenty  of  choices,  and  needn't 
stay  one  day  in  the  house — "  if  they  felt  like  going 
out." 

»  "  But  then,  pa,"  said  Fanny,  now  the  senior  Miss 
Gallagher,  "it  a'nt  the  thing,  you  know,  for  youujf 
girls  like  U8  to  be  riding  in  care  or  BLagee,  unk^'^iJ 


'i 

1  ■ 

i 

Mil 

',f.l.T       J 

TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOX. 


153 


we  have  somebody  with  us — it  a'nt  proper,  you 
knoW;  and  besides,  it's  so  vulgar — my !  I'd  rather 
walk,  any  day  of  the  year,  th^n  be  packed  in  a  car  or 
omnibus  with  all  sorts  of  people.  You  have  no  idea 
what  common,  rowdy-looking  characters  one  sees 
in  those  conveyances !'" 

"  Haven't  I  indeed  ?"  said  Tom  with  his  good- 
natured  laugh  ;  "  why  don't  you  think  I  have  eyes 
as  well  as  you  ?     /  can  ride  in  the  cars  very  well." 

"Oh!  of  course  you  can,  pa!"  but  then,  you  know, 
you're  not  like  us — young  girls  are  more  exposed  to 
insult " 

"Young  girls!"  repeated  the  father  with  a  glee- 
ful chuckle;  "well!  I  think,  Fanny !  yo«/.  ought  to 
be  old  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself.  Let  me  see, 
Ellen!  how  old  is  Fanny  now?" 

"Never  mind,  pa!  how  old  I  am,"  said  Fanny 
with  rising  ill-humor  ;  she  was  going  to  add,  "  I'm 
old  enough  to  be  wiser  than  my  father,"  but  a 
glance  from  her  mother  made  her  rein  in  her  saucy 
"tongue,  and  she  forced  herself  to  look  as  though  she 
were  mightily  amused  by  his  \ilt\e jeu  cPespitt,  point- 
less though  it  was. 

"I  know  one  thing  about  the  cars  and  the  stages,'* 
said  Mrs.  Gallagher  with  emphasis,  "  and  that  is, 
that  one  never  feels  safe  in  them." 

"  Why,  bless  my  soul !  Ellen,"  said  her  husband, 

sure  you  re  not  a  young  girl,  anyhow  ?  is  it  afeard 
of  being  run  away  with  you  are  ?'* 


f       '  .    '  -  * 


ty:',"  ii 


r^'  m 


.3*A!i 


,  'i 

.'   ,'"> 

/iff' 

154 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


;'•  v> 


'<.  .1'- 


.-■3, 


'1:  '   '> 

.   ,'  i 


m . 


l/'jV'., 


■•  :;;'"''''^V'; 


"  If /'m  not  run  away  with,  my  purse  may,  or  my 
watch  and  chain !" 

"  Pooh,  nonsense,  woman !" 

"  I  tell  you  it's  no  nonsense,  Tom  Gallagher  \ 
didn't  I  lose  my  purse  once  in  the  Bloomingdale 
stage  and  a  ten-dollar  gold  piece  in  it,  besides  some 
small  change  ?" 

"And  didn't  /  lose  a  five-dollar  pocket-handker 
chief  in  the  Third  Avenue  cars  ?"  said  Fanny. 

"  And  didn't  /  lose  in  the  Bleecker  street  stage 
that  beautiful  ring  with  five  small  pearls  and  a  spark 
of  diamond  that  pa  gave  me  for  a  New  Year's  pre- 
sent ?"  chimed  in  EUie. 

"  Lord  save  us !"  said  Tom  to  himself,  "  what  can 
all  this  mean,  or  are  they  all  taking  leave  of  their 
senses  ?"  Aloud  he  said  :  "  Well !  I  own  there's 
very  bad  walking  at  times  here  in  New  York,  so 
that  you  can't  very  well  take  exercise  in  the  open 
air,  and  then  you  all  agree  that  for  one  reason  or 
another  it  isn't  safe  to  go  in  the  cars  or  stages — 
now  what's  to  be  done?" 

"  Dear  knows !"  sighed  Mrs.  Gallagher,  as  she 
proceeded  to  lock  up  the  closets  and  make  other 
preliminary  motions  of  a  si'nilar  kind  for  the  house- 
hold's approaching  departure  to  t^e  land  vulgarly 
called  "  of  Nod !"  "  dear  knows,  Tom  !  but  /  know 
/  can't  stand  this  constant  confinement  much  longer 
— it's  worse  on  me  than  the  hard  work  a  hundred 
times!" 

"Why!   that's   true   enough,   Ellen  dear;"  said 


:  iA.v;  "^ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


155 


Tom  in  perfect  good  faith,  "  but  what  on  earth  can 
we  do  more  than  we're  doing  ?  Supposin'  you  were 
to  keep  another  girl — or  two,  if  you  think  well  of 
it — how  would  that  be  ?'* 

Mrs.  Gallagher  shook  her  head  despondingly. 

"  Well !  let  me  see — it's  March  now — we'll  soon 
have  the  fine  weather — what  would  you  think  of 
takin'  a  tower  yourself  an'  Mag  and  Annie  and 
Janie,  as  Fanny  and  Ellie  were  away  with  Eliza  ?" 

"  How  you  do  talk,  Tom  ;"  cried  Mrs.  Gallagher 
very  tartly.  "  How  could  we  go  on  a  tower  without 
any  man-body  with  us  to  see  to  the  trunks  and 
things  ?" 

"  I  should  think  it  wouldn't  be  easy  for  so  many 
woman-bodies  to  go  on  a  tower,  without  man-bodies 
to  help  them  up,"  whispered  Mag  to  Ellie  some- 
what irreverently. 

"  Hush !    hush  1"   whispered    Ellie   back   again ; 
"the  fat  will  be  all  in   the  fire   if  they  hear  you 
making  fun  of  them  !" 

"  Well !  then,  I  declare  1  can't  think  what's  best 
to  do,"  said  Tom,  beginning  to  be  really  puzzled. 
"  How  would  a  trip  to  Saratoga  do  ?" 

"  Very  well  while  it  lasted,  but  that  wouldn't  be 
long,  and  we'd  soon  be  as  bad  as  ever.  To  tell  you 
the  honest  truth,  Tom  dear ;  and  I  didn't  like  to  tell 
you  till  I  86-3  there's  nothing  else  for  it — I'm  getting 
mighty  bad  entirely  with  pains  in  my  legs  !" 

"  Pains  in  your  legs,  Ellen  !"  cried  Tom  all  aghast,' 
"  is  it  in  earnest  you  are  ?" 


*  1. 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  In  earnest !"  repeated  his  spouse  in  a  tone  of 
reproach ;  "  do  you  think  it's  joking  IM  bo  about 
the  like  of  that  ?" 

"  But  it's  curious  you  never  told  me  before — how 
long  are  you  troubled  with  the  pains — maybe  it'i 
the  rheumatics  you're  getting?" 

"  Whatever  it  is,  I  find  ray  limbs  failin'  me,  and 
that's  what  doesn't  answer  me  of  all  people  that  has 
so  much  to  do  around  the  house." 

"By  the  laws,  it's  a  bad  business,"  said  Tom, 
musingly ;  "  we  must  see  the  doctor  about  it." 

"You'll  do  no  such  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Gallagher 
quickly ;  it's  time  enough  to  be  laying  out  money 
with  doctors  when  we  can't  help  it.  I  tell  you, 
it's  air  I  want,  fresh  country  air,  and  that  regularly." 

"  Oh,  if  that's  all  you  want,"  said  Tom,  with  a 
lightened  heart,  "  we  can  manage  that  easy  enough. 
Hire  a  carriage  a  couple  of  times  a  week,  or  every 
day  if  you  like,  and  take  some  of  the  girls  out  with 
you  for  a  ride." 

"  A  drive,  pa,"  suggested  Fanny. 

"Well,  whatsomever  you  call  it— a  ride  or  a 
drive." 

"  And  all  the  money  we'd  pay  for  coach-hire 
would  be  a  dead  loss  !"  said  Mrs.  Gallagher  econo- 
mically. "  No,  Tom !  we'll  do  no  such  foolish  thing, 
with  my  consent,  anyhow !  If  we  do  spend  money 
on  account  of  these  legs  of  mine — weary  on  them 
for  legs! — let  us  have  somethmg  for  it! — you  know 
you  have  to  keep  a  couple  of  horses  now  for  your 


TASTE    VERSrS   FASHION. 


167 


business — well !  let  us  biiy  a  carriage  at  once^  instead 
of  hiring  one  two  or  three  times  a  week — then  we'll 
>(/ivn  it  of  our  own,  you  know,  and  can  drive  out 
whenever  we've  a  mind  to,  without  shoveling  out 
money  to  them  hackmen  that  wouldn't  thank  us  for 
all  we'd  give  them." 

Having  so  delivered  herself,  Mrs.  Gallagher  looked 
as  though  she  expected  a  compliment  for  her 
money-saving  ingenuity.  All  the  girls  immediately 
chorused  in,  quite  innocently,  the  darlings!  and 
with  such  glad  surprise  as  though  they  had  never 
thought,  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  before. 

*'  Oh  yes,  pa ! — let  us  have  a  carriage — won't  you, 
pa  ? — now  do,  pa  ! — it  will  be  so  nice,  you  know  !'* 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  poor  beleaguered  Tom  Gal- 
lagher ;  "  yes,  yes,  I  know  it  would  be  very  nice 
and  very  pleasant,  but  I  know,  too,  that  it  would 
cost  a  nice  penny  to  get  such  a  carriage  as  you^d  like 
to  ride  out  in," 

"  Why,  no,  Tom  !  it  wouldn't  cost  so  much  as  you 
think,"  said  his  wife ;  "  a  very  plain  one  would  do, 
you  know !"  and  she  winked  at  the  girls. 

"  A  plain  one,  eh  ? — well !  if  I  thought  that — I 
wonder,  now,  how  much  it  would  cost — if  a  couple  of 
hundred  dollars  would  do,  I  wouldn't  mind  goin'  as 
I'ar  as  that  on  one." 

"  Well !  it  wouldn't  be  much  over  that,  at  any 
rate,"  observed  Mrs.  Gallagher,  "and  then  havin' 
the  horses,  as  I  said  before- 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  Yes,  but  you  could  only  have  them  on  Sundays, 
you  know !" 

"  Oh !  well,  that'll  do" — another  wink  at  the  girls— 
•*  it's  on  Sunday  we  want  the  carriage  most  when 
you  can  be  with  us  yourself,  Tom  !" 

"  Well !  but  see  here,  Ellen !"  said  Tom  looking 
very  shrewd,  "  there's  another  thing  we  are  forget- 
tin'  entirely." 

"  An*  what  is  that,  Tom  dear  ?" 

"  Why,  if  we  get  a  carriage  we'll  have  to  keep  a 
man  to  drive  it,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  An'  what  of  that  ?"  asked  his  wife,  ever  fruitful 
in  expedients;  "don't  we  want  a  man  badly  to  do 
turns  about  the  house,  and  take  care  of  the  grass- 
plot  abroad  ?" 

"  And  then  he'd  do  for  a  waiter  when  we  have 
company,  pa !"  suggested  Fanny. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  mother,  *'  we  could  advertise  for  a 
coachman  and  butler." 

"  Nonsense,  ma !"  retorted  Fanny,  "  sure  nobody 
advertises  for  a  coachman  and  butler !" 

"  I  tell  you  they  do,"  persisted  the  mother ; 
"  didn't  I  see  it  in  the  Herald  a  score  of  times  ?" 

"  You  had  better  eyes  than  I  have,  then,  for  1 
never  saw  it !  you  might  have  seen  '  coachmai  and 
gardener  wanted.'  " 

"  Coachman  and  butler,  I  say !"     Fanny  shook  her 
head  incredulously. 
.    The  dispute  was  likely  to  wax  warm  when  the 


TASTR    VERSUS    FASIIIO>T. 


159 


father  of  the  family  put  a  stop  to  further  altercation 
by  saying : 

"  Well !  well !  the  coachman  can  be  seen  about 
after — better  get  the  coach  first !" 

'"  '  'hen  we  may  have  it  ?'  "  Oh  !  you  dear,  darl- 
ing pa !"  "  My  !  I'm  so  glad  !"  cried  the  girls  one 
after  the  other,  and  gathering  around  poor  Tom 
like  a  swarm  of  bees  they  began  to  caress  him  each 
in  their  own  way,  the  mother  laughing  gleefully  at 
the  joyfully-exciting  scene. 

"  I  don't  believe  there  ever  2vas  so  dear  a  pa !" 
ejaculated  Fanny  by  way  of  winding  up. 

"  Well !  I'll  tell,  you  what,  girls !"  said  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher, "  we  musn't  impose  on  good  nature,  so  you 
musn't  think  of  that  box  at  the  opera — this  season 
at  least." 

"  Box  at  the  opera  !"  cried  Tom  opening  his  large 
round  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent ;  "  why  what  the 
mischief  will  come  into  your  heads  next  ? — I  never 
heard  a  word  of  the  box  at  the  opera — I'll  be 
blowed  if  I  stand  tliat  /"  and  he  stood  up  and  lifted 
his  chair,  and  set  it  down  again  with  great  ve- 
hemence. 

"  Not  this  year,  Tom  dear !"  said  his  wife  sooth- 
ingly. 

"No,  nor  next  year  either!  it  'li  be  a  month  of 
Sundays  before  you  get  that  length,  anyhow!" 
And  so  saying,  Tom  marched  out  of  the  room,  hav« 
ing  previously  thrown  his  coat  back  on  his  shoul- 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;   OR, 


ders  by  a  violent  jerk  expressive  of  indomitable 
resolution. 

"  Oh  ma !  you've  spoiled  all !"  said  Fanny  with 
decided  temper ;  "  what  evil  spirit  put  it  in  your 
head  to  say  anything  about  the  box  at  the  opera  ?" 

"  It's  all  over  now — we'll  never  get  the  carriage  !" 
whimpered  Ellie,  and  the  three  junior  Miss  Gal- 
laghers began  to  sob  audibly. 

"  Nonsense,  girls !"  said  the  mother  cheerily, 
'*  don't  be  making  fools  of  yourselves !  I  tell  you 
we'll  have  the  carriage,  and  a  handsomer  one  than 
Mrs.  McGilligan's,  and  a  pair  of  carriage-horses,  and 
a  livery-servant — ay  !  and  the  box  at  the  opera,  too ! 
—d'ye  mind  now  ?" 

Of  course  the  girls  did  mind,  and  would  mind, 
and  were  delighted  to  mind  so  ecstatically-dear  a 
parcL- 

"  Well !  but  listen  to  what  I'm  a-going  to  tell 
you!"  Never  were  five  hearers  more  attentive. 
"  If  you  want  to  have  all  this  and  more  just  let  me 
manage  it  all  my  own  way ! — if  you  be  putting  in 
your  tongues,  without  a  sign  from  me,  you'll  put 
your  foot  in  it,  mind  I  tell  you  !" 

No !  no !  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  of 
any  such  pedal  movement — the  girls  were  too  mich 
overjoyed  to  put  either  tongue  or  foot  in  any  plan 
emanating  from  their  ma's  busy  brain,  and  what  a 
I'ttle  busy  bee  of  a  brain  that  was,  to  be  sure! 

It  was  altogether  remarkable  what  ease  and  agility 
Mrs.  Gallagher  displayed  in  the  "  gettin'  up  stairs" 


TA3TK    VKRSU9    FASHIOX. 


Ifi 


that  nigbt,  considering  the  "  weary  legs"  she  had, 
and  the  failing  state  of  her  limbs  generally.  The 
discrepancy  did  not  escape  the  keen  eyes  of  the 
gii'ls,  and  they  laughed  merrily  as  they  saw  her  lead 
the  way  in  the  ascent,  with  as  light  a  step  as  any  of 
them.  She  silenced  their  miklli,  however,  by  turn 
lug  and  shaking  her  fist  at  them,  for  they  were  now 
within  an  unsafe  distance  of  their  father,  who,  if  he 
chanced  to  hear  them  laughing  so  heartily,  might 
peradventure  "  smell  a  rat,"  and,  so  smelling,  begin 
to  reconsider  his  promise  in  relation  to  the  carriage. 
For  the  next  three  or  four  weeks  nothing  was 
thought  of  by  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  her  daughter? 
but  the  all-important  affair  of  the  forthcoming  equip- 
age. Eliza  was  summoned  to  the  family  council, 
and  her  heart  expanded  with  joy,  as  in  duty  bound, 
at  the  approaching  aggrandizement  of  her  relatives. 
It  might  be  that  she  counted  on  the  use  of  the  car- 
riage for  herself  to  a  certain  extent,  and  that  visions 
of  state-airings  on  the  Bloomingdale  road,  with  a  pair 
of  handsome  bays  or  grays  before  her  and  the  luxu- 
rious cushions  of  a  stylish  barouche  behind  and  be- 
neath her,  might  have  been  floating  through  her 
mind,  but  what  if  they  did,  wasn't  Eliza  still  part 
of  the  Gallagher  family,  and  a  very  important  part, 
too,  all  the  more  so  for  being  Mrs.  Samuel  C. 
Fogarty.  It  was  decided  on,  however,  at  the  first 
general  council,  held  in  the  front  basement  of  No. 
66,  that  the  whole  affair  was  to  be  kept  a  profound 
secret  from  the  Fogartys  and  every  one  else,  until 


l.H         ■ 


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OLD    AND    NKW  ;    OR, 


■  *  _ 


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everything  was  ready  for  the  grand  turn-out,  which 
was  appointed  for  "Sunday  three-weekfi,"  counting 
from  the  day  of  the  consultation. 

The  first  week  was  spent  by  our  six  ladies  i 
visiting,  two  by  two,  the  different  carriage-factories 
inspecting  colors  and  material  of  cushions,  style  of 
trimming,  &c.,  comparing  what  they  saw  with  tho 
equipages  of  Mrs.  McGilligan  aforesaid,  and  half  a 
dozen  other  Mistresses  of  their  acquaintance,  ail  of 
whom  were  to  be  thrown  into  the  shade — in  fact 
annihilated — by  the  splendor  and  fashion  of  the 
Gallagher  cwtege.  On  the  Friday  of  that  week,  at 
three  o'clock  iu  the  afternoon,  the  carriage  was 
purchased — a  very  elegant  family-coach,  with  a  box 
in  front,  of  course,  and  a  stand  behind,  also  in  course, 
for  "the  tiger" — that  was  one  day  to  grace  the 
Gallagher  menagerie.  The  carriage  was  represented 
to  Tom  as  a  dead  bargain,  iseeing  that  it  only  cost 
seven  hundred  dollars^  and  it  would  be  worth  that 
to  them — ay!  and  a  hundred  dollars  more — any 
iday  they  wished  to  part  with  it.  Indeed  they'd 
never  have  got  it  for  anything  like  what  they  did, 
only  it  so  happened  that  the  p  ue  d  necessity 
that  wrung  the  poison  frc^"  '  eluctant  apothecary 
of  dramatic  story  coercei  worthy  v     der  of  car- 

riages at  that  particular  jui  tur*  , — in  other  words 
that  gentleman  was  badly  in  wuut  of  ready  money, 
so  said  Mrs.  Gallagher  to  Mr.  Gallagher — which  .ct 
alone  could  account  for  their  good  luck  in  obtaining 
Buch  a  beautiful,  elegant  carriage  for  a  mere  song ! 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASIWOy. 


163 


Tom  was   forced  to  give  in,  although   the  good 

uck  in  question  was  not  so  clear  to  his  perception 

as  it  was  to  his  wife's — still  he  did  give  in,  and 

handed  out  the  money  with  the  best  grace  he  could. 

The  horses  were  the  next  "  consideration."  The 
procuring  of  them  was  not  so  difficult  a  matter  as 
might  be  supposed.  "No  one  in  their  senses  would 
ever  dream  of  putting  common  cart-horses  before" 
80  splendid  a  conveyance  as  the  coach-maker's  ne- 
cessity had  thrown  into  the  hands  of  the  Gallaghers, 
80  Tom,  the  head  of  that  house,  being  in  his  senses, 
did  not  dream  of  any  such  incongruous  proceeding, 
especially  as  real  good  luck  had  come  to  him  the 
week  previous  in  the  shape  of  a  large  contract.  So 
the  horses  were  bought,  "  two  loves  of  iron-grays,'* 
(as  the  delighted  Miss  Gallaghers  phrased  it,)  with 
harness  of  a  style  and  fashion  to  correspond  with 
the  other  items  of  the  "  turn-out." 

Atty  Garrell,  contrary  to  all  expectation,  entered 
vnth  spirit  into  the  "  coach-and-two"  affair,  so 
glorious  to  the  house  of  Gallagher  and  its  depend- 
encies ;  in  fact  Atty  was  quite  elate  at  the  prospect 
of  having  it  to  say,  and  above  all  to  write  to  Ire- 
land, that  Tom  Gallagher,  who  came  from  the  next 
townland  to  him  at  home,  was  riding  in  his  coach. 
Atty  was  opposed  to  laying  out  money  on  super- 
fluities, under  which  head  he  was  wont  to  class 
dress  in  all  its  branches — albeit,  that  he  had,  in  the 
privacy  of  his  own  little  room  in  a  cheap  boarding- 
house  not  far  from  the  market,  written  boastfully  to 


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164 


OT-I)    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


his  people  at  home  that  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  hei 
daughters  were  "  rolling  in  their  silks,"  and,  further- 
more, that  the  sum  total  of  the  money  expended  or 
those  silks  wherein  they  rolled  would  stock  a  fine 
farm.  On  such  confidential  occasions,  honest  Atty 
used  to  wind  up  with  the  emphatic  interrogatory 
"  Isn't  it  the  fine  country  all  out  ?"  generally  adding, 
"  I  think  Tom  Gallagher  wouH  be  a  long  time  at 
home  in  Kilternan  before  lie*d  como  to  the  likes  of 
that;' 

So  sincere  was  Attv's  coalescence  in  the  measure 
*'  before  the  house,''  that  he  volunteered  his  services 
to  hunt  up  a  fitting  charioteer  to  encase  in  the  blue 
livery-overcoat  already  provided,  and  after  some 
days  of  anxioiis  search  (at  least  all  the  spare  time  he 
had)  Atty*8  laudable  perseverance  was  crowned  with 
success,  and  he  had  the  honor  and  pleasure  of  intro- 
ducing to  the  assembled  fixmily,  on  the  Sunday  pre- 
ceding the  great  day,  "  a  smart,  decent  boy — Peter 
Malowney  by  name — from  within  a  stone's  throw  of 
where  he  (Atty)  was  brought  up."  Peter  was  not 
**  green" — he  was  '\  true  blue,  if  such  orthodox  color 
may  lawfully  distinguish  a  coachman  ;  he  had  seen 
pood  service — that  is  to  say,  driven  carriages  for 
some  of  the  first  in  the  city,  and  was,  moreover,  not 
altogether  unwilling  to  "  take  charge  of  a  pantry,' 
together  with  a  grass-plot. 

This  was  all  very  satisfactory,  so  far  as  it  went, 
but  there  were  some  other  little  arrangements  still 
to  be  made  before   the  affair  w^s  finally  settled. 


■.  i.'v 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


165 


There  was  no  coach-house  op  the  premises,  and 
pending  the  erection  of  one,  for  which  there  was, 
luckily,  ample  space,  the  carriage  was  to  be  kept  at 
•A  neighboring  livery-stable,  together  with  the  two 
"  loves  of  iron-grays,"  for  whose  reception  tho 
stable  hitherto  occupied  by  the  cart-horses  was  to 
undergo  a  thorough  fitting-up,  the  useful  but  un- 
fashionable animals  last  mentioned  to  be  sen^, 
"  down  town"  to  a  livery-stable  of  less  pretensions 
in  the  vicinity  of  the  market. 

All  these  various  ariangem.ents  being  completed 
to  the  entire  satisfaction  of  those  most  concerned, 
just  three  days  before  the  intended  demonstration, 
the  ladies  feeling  quite  exhausted  after  their  arduous 
and  unremitting  exertions  for  almost  three  weeks, 
resolved  to  rest  lightly  on  their  oars — now  tiiat  all 
was  fairly  under  weigh — and  refresh  their  jaded 
minds  and  flagging  spirits  by  a  few  visits  to  partic- 
ular friends  where  they  might  reasonably  hope  to 
get  "  posted  up"  in  the  gossip  of  the  neighborhood, 
and  find  out  what  had  been  going  on  whilst  they 
were  horse-and-carriage  hunting. 

On  the  Thursday  before  the  so  anxiously-expected 
Sunday,  Mrs.  (xallagher  and  her  three  youngest 
daughters  went  to  spend  the  afternoon,  i:^nd  possibly 
(he  evening,  at  "  Eliza's,"  and  the  two  elder  were 
to  go  in,  after  tea,  to  see  how  the  Fogartys  "  were 
getting  on,"  with  a  special  charge  from  their  mothtr 
to  try  and  find  out  whether  they  (the  Fogartys' 
"  had  got  any  inkling  about  the  carriage." 


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OLD    AN'D    NEW  ;    OR, 


These  arrangements  for  the  day  being  duly  dis- 
cussed at  the  early  breakfast  of  the  family,  Tom 
asked  his  wife  carelessly  what  time  she  thought 
she'd  be  home. 

Mrs.  Gallagher  didn't  know  for  certain.  Why 
did  he  ask  ?  Oh  !  for  no  reason  in  the  world,  Tom 
said,  only  the  house  would  be  so  lonesome  without 
her — he  hoped  she'd  try  and  be  home  before  him,  at 
any  rate. 

"  My  goodness,  Tom  Gallagher !"  said  his  wife 
laughing,  "  what  on  earth  would  you  do  if  I  was  like 
other  women  that  go  out  visiting,  or  walking,  or 
riding,  every  day  of  their  lives  ?  I've  given  you  a 
bad  fashion,  my  good  man  !  so  I  must  try  and  break 
you  off  of  it — I  don't  think  you'll  see  a  sight  of  us 
here  the  night  before  ten  o'clock.  D'ye  hear  that 
DOW  ?" 

Of  course  Tom  did  hear,  and  acquiesced  with  a 
nod  and  a  quiet  smile.  Tom  was  a  man  of  few 
words,  generally  speaking,  and  at  home  he  foun-d  it 
the  easiest  thing  in  the  world  to  avoid  "  much  speak- 
ing," his  "  womankind"  being  able  and  willing  to 
do  all  the  talking  themselves. 

Tom  was  home  to  tea  that  evening  in  good  time, 
and  with  him  was  Atty  Garrell  "  drest  up  to  the 
nines,"  as  Fanny  and  Ellie  said,  but,  of  course,  that 
wap  io  be  expected  when  pa  brought  him  homo 
to  tea. 

Tea  being  over,  the  two  young  ladies  throwinjc; 
shawls  aiound  them,  and  on  their  heads  rigo'*iUe« 


4li'>>! 


f  wv-  f? 


m:  ■■• 


'.^: 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION' 


161 


betook  tbem  to  Mrs.  Fogarty's,  next  stone  house 
.above.  We  shall  stay  no  longer  with  them  there 
tlian  just  to  mention  that  by  various  skilful  ma 
r.oeuvres  of  a  searching,  yet  non-committing  charao 
ter,  they  succeeded  in  ascertaining  that  the  Fogar 
tys,  old  and  young,  were  in  a  state  of  ignorance 
concerning  the  forthcoming  "equipage,"  whichigno* 
ranee,  if  it  were  not  bliss  to  the  Fogartys,  was  de- 
cidedly bliss  to  the  Miss  Gallaghers. 

When  the  Gallagher  mansion  was  vacated  by  the 
lac^t  of  the  feminine  members  of  the  family,  strange 
niovfements  were  perceptible  on  the  part  of  the  pro- 
prietor. Immediately  he  and  Atty  were  both  on 
the  alert,  and  the  latter  functionary  was  dispatched 
on  an  errand,  the  nature  of  which  could  hardly  be 
ascertained  from  the  quick,  tremulous  manner  and 
the  half- whisper  in  which  the  order  was  given. 
Left  alone,  Tom  was  not  idle ;  he  ascended  with 
unwonted  agility  to  some  upper  region  of  his  domi- 
cile, and  in  a  few  minutes  appeared  "  as  clean  as  a 
new  pin,"  to  borrow  his  own  expressive  metaphor. 
Tie  had  hardly  returned  to  the  sitting-room  when 
carriage-wheels  were  heard  approaching — then  stop- 
])ing  at  the  door.  Tom  rushed  out — there  was  the 
new  carriage,  "  loves  of  iron-grays,"  and  all ; — Peter 
was  on  the  box,  minus  the  livery-coat,  however— 
and  beside  him  was  Atty  Garrell,  whose  small  bulk 
Fprang  with  much  velocity  to  the  ground. 

Tom  laughed,  and  Atty  laughed,  and  Peter  on 
his  perch  laughed,  too,  as  Tom  stepped  in,  having 


y  if    '    ■■       I-  ■ 
.,      '.  '  ■■*  ■■■,.  ' 

■'   ,  •    ;    ;  ' 


;",■  ■       ■•■■,!><•■■■.,  I 

,    U  -11, '*•'<'  — 


•  '-  ." :  .  I. 
f 


r, 


V?'^ 


i5'.-.-*V'   ' 


rv 


/Irf 


:;•<,•"-. 


168 


|;'wIm 


1 


■1   !   '■■  1      ■ 


.•  » 

fe'; 

w  f ' 

IM 

p 

Ri 

1' 

OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


first  carefully  wiped  his  feet  on  the  mat  in  the  ves- 
tibule, and  warned  Atty  to  do  likewise,  which  ha 
did. 

"  Jump  in,  then,"  said  Tom,  "  w'e'll  have  the  first 
of  the  new  carriage,  Atty,  and  a  glorious  night  it  is, 
too,  for  a  ride.  Isn't  it  lucky  the  ground's  so  dry, 
or  we  couldn't  venture  out — but  now  mind,  Peter, 
you're  to  look  all  over  the  coach  when  you  have  the 
daylight  to-morrow,  and  clean  off  any  specks  that 
you'll  see  on  it !" 

"  Oh !  leave  that  to  me,  sir !"  said  Peter ;  "  be- 
gorra,  I  wouldn't  have  a  spot  on  it  for  my  month's 
wages  when  the  mistress,  God  bless  her !  comes  to 
clap  her  eye  on  it  !*' 

"  And  you'll  never  say  a  word  about  the  ride  we're 
goin*  to  have  ?" 

"  Faith !  if  he  does,'*  put  in  Atty,  who  had  just 
put  himself  into  the  carriage  by  the  side  of  his  prin- 
cipal, "  faith,  if  he  does,  it'll  be  all  the  worse  for 
himself  as  well  as  others ! — well !  I  declare,  Mr. 
Gallagher !  it's  a  bold  venture,  anyhow,  and  you're 
the  drollest  man  that  ever  lived  to  think  of  playing 
the  ladies  such  a  trick  !" 

*'  Isn't  it  a  great  idaya  ?"  chuckled  Tom.  "  But, 
after  all,  Atty,  isn't  it  my  own?  didn't  I  shell  out 
for  it  ?  and  I'd  like  to  know  who  has  a  better  right 
to  it  first  or  last  ?  And,  you  see,  I  wanted  you  to 
have  the  first  ride  in  it,  for  you're  the  best  friend 
I  have  in  the  world,  Atty  !  and,  in  course,  if  I  didn't 
take  you  along  with  myself,  the  thing  wouldn't  be 


*---^,'' 


'  ■  ■  .     * 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


169 


done,  no  how  !  So  drive  on,  Peter  !  as  fast  as  you 
can,  in  the  name  of  God  !" 

"  Where  do  you  wish  to  go,  sir?'* 

*'0h!  then,  myself  doesn't  much  care,  Peter! 
just  drive  wherever  you  like — it's  case  equal  to  us." 

"  All  right,  sir  !"  and  so  saying,  Peter  flourished 
Lis  whip  and  drove  off,  as  much  delighted  with  the 
practical  joke  they  were  playing  on  the  mistress  and 
the  young  ladies  as  either  Tom  or  his  fac-totum. 

Tom  Gallagher's  courage  deserved  success,  and 
success  he  had  in  his  perilous  undertaking,  for, 
over  and  above  the  pleasure  of  the  ride — all  the 
greater,  of  course,  for  being  stolen — he  had  the 
great  good  luck  to  be  "  home  again,"  as  the  ballad 
says,  and  seated  in  cushioned  and  slippered  ease  at 
the  fire  in  the  sitting-room — the  iron-grays  and  Atty 
being  respectively  gone  to  quarters  for  the  night — 
when  the  authoritative  ring  at  the  door  announced 
the  return  of  the  chatelaine  and  her  daughters — at 
least  some  of  them;  the  others  made  their  appear- 
ance soon  after.  Mrs.  Gallagher  was  much  surprised 
to  see  Tom  "  dressed  up,"  but  the  change  of  apparel 
was  satisfactorily  explained  by  the  simple  announce- 
ment that  "  himself  and  Atty  were  out  on  a  little 
business."  Fortunately,  Mrs.  Gallagher's  curiosit.y 
was  on  another  scent  just  then,  so  instead  of  ques- 
tioning Tom  as  to  the  nature  of  the  "  little  business" 
aforesaid,  she  began  to  inquire  of  Fanny  and  Ellie 
whether  the  Fogartys  had  heard  of  the  carriage  or 
not. 


'  1 


I''' 


^^>i^ 


'■,^y:. 


•r^ 


'J^. 


:      I 


r-r .1 

(1 

,'* 

4 

'1 

if 

4 

.1     ; 

i 

110 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


V-'»l'''t 


CHAPTER  IX. 


:;-.'3-' 


lit  ' 

{■■*:; 


1  -s  **">;■!  -  *' 


;<'-^i 


^r  ^   .. 


A   MORNING   AT   RHEINFELDT    H0U81. 

About  two  weeks  after  the  serenade  which  had  sc, 
disturbed  Bertha,  and  just  when  she  had  partially 
succeeded  in  banishing  it  from  her  mind,  or  rather 
forcing  her  thoughts  into  other  channels,  she  went 
out  one  bright  Spring  morning  for  a  walk  with  Alice 
Murray,  and  having  left  her  at  her  own  domicile 
returned  home  alone. 

"  Is  that  you,  Bertha  ?*'  said  her  mother  opening 
the  parlor-door,  as  her  daughter  entered  the  hall. 

"  Yes,  mother,  it  is  I — I  hope  you  haven't  been 
wanting  me  ?" 

"  No,  not  exactly  wanting  you,  but  I  am  glad  you 
came  just  now." 

"  And  why  so,  mother  ?" 

"  Because  I  am  expecting  some  gentlemen  hero 
presently  to  see  the  house." 

"  To  see  the  house  !  for  what  purpose  ? — are  you 
going  to  let  or  sell  it?" 

Her  mother  put  a  note  into  her  hand  ;  it  was  writ- 
ten in  pencil-mark,  and  she  turned  to  the  window  to 
read  as  follows : 

"  Major  Montague  and  Captain  Bellewof  the  Bri- 
tish Army  present  their  compliments  to  Madam 
Von  Wie-^el,  and  would    be   much  obliged  if  she 


'I    ' 


TASTK    VERSUS    FASHIOX. 


171 


"  you   take 
/  found  no 


would  permit  them  to  see  certain  apartments  of  her 
mansion,  which,  as  they  are  informed,  have  a  his- 
torical interest  for  British  officers  visiting  New 
York. 

"  Astoi*  House,  Thursday  morning." 

"  Why,  Bertha !"  said  her  mother, 
longer  to  read  that  note  than  I  did. 
difficulty  in  deciphering  its  contents." 

"  Who  brouglit  the  note,  mother  ?"  said  Bertha 
Btill  at  the  window. 

"  A  gentleman's  servant,  Jan  said." 

"  And  what  answer  did  you  give." 

''Why,  of  course,  I  sent  my  compliments  that  the 
gentlemen  were  very  welcome  to  visit  any  part  of 
the  house  they  might  desire  to  see.  I  dare  say  they 
will  soon  be  here  now,  as  I  received  the  note  imme- 
diately after  you  left." 

"Very  well,  mother!  I  will  be  down  in  a  few 
moments,"  and  so  saying  Bertha  left  the  room. 
Having  laid  aside  her  bonnet  and  shawl  she  has- 
tened to  the  oratory,  and  knelt  a  moment  or  two 
before  the  little  altar — no  word  escaped  her  lips, 
hut  her  heart  breathed  a  fervent  prayer,  and  she 
bowed  her  head  before  the  maternal  figure  of  Our 
Lady,  then  rose  very  pale  but  very  calm,  and  de- 
scended to  the  parlor  with  a  slow  but  firm  step. 

She  had  hardly  taken  her  seat  in  the  recess  of  one 
of  the  front  windows  when  the  door-bell  rang,  and 
Jan  throwing  open  the  parlor-door  announced  "two 
gentlemans  to  see  madam."     They  had  given  theii 


■,4  '  ;. 


4' 


'(  i 


Lis**  1  ''"''■*•  *,  ■  ( 


M 


,*  '.  •; 


r 


it'- 


^w 


.■\ 


m  „ 


.t 


ns 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


ti 


••.1.  ■•; 


;»:■■•' 


4y: 

4'  ;! 


i€': 


names  but  •Jan's  Teutonic  tongue  found  it  easier  to  pasjf 
thera  over. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  arose  and  so  did  her  daugh- 
ter to  receive  the  visitors,  who,  though  dressed  as 
civilians,  bore  about  them  the  marks  and  manners  of 
military  men.  One  of  them  was  a  tall  distinguished- 
looking  man  about  five-and-thirty,  whose  face,  though 
singularly  handsome,  was  somewhat  bronzed  by  ex- 
posure to  the  sun,  and  its  dark  Southern  hue  was 
made  darker  still  by  a  shadow  from  within  that  might 
be  pride  or  melancholy,  perhaps  both.  However  it 
was,  it  was  a  face  which  both  attracted  and  repelled, 
a  face  one  might  love  yet  fear  to  look  upon,  the  fear 
not  so  much  from  any  sinister  expression  as  a  certain 
degree  of  sternness  that,  after  all  seemed  foreign  to  the 
fine  intellectual  features. 

The  other  gentleman  was  lower  in  stat  e  and 
stouter  in  build,  with  a  frank,  cheerful,  good- 
humored  countenance,  blue  laughing  eyes,  a  broad 
white  forehead,  large  sandy  whiskers,  and  a  profii- 
pion  of  auburn  hair  ;  he  might  have  been  a  year  or 
two  older  than  his  companion,  but  his  manner  being 
easier  and  more  careless  made  him  appear  the  younger 
of  the  two. 

"Madam  Yon  Wiegel,  I  presume?"  said  thi 
taller  of  the  visitors  bowing  with  the  ease  of  a 
finished  gentleman.  Madam  Von  Wiegel  bowed 
assent. 

*'  My  name,  madam,  is  Fugai'  Montague,  major  is 
her  Britannic  Majesty's regiment  of  foot." 


TASTR    VERSUS    FASHION. 


173 


"  And  mine,  madam !"  said  his  friend  rather  ab- 
ruptly, "  is  Gerald  Bellew,  captain  in  the  same— 
both  very  much  at  Madam  Von  Wiegel's  service." 

The  old  lady  bowed  again,  this  time  with  a 
pleased  smile,  for  the  frank  courtesy  of  Bellew'a 
manner    at  once  prepossessed  her  in  his  favor. 

"  Pray  be  seated,  gentlemen  !"  she  said  loftily,  yet 
kindly.  "  You  wish,  it  seems,  to  see  some  of  the 
apartments  of  this  house  ?" 

"  With  your  permission,  madam !"  said  the  cap- 
tain, to  whom  she  had  more  particularly  addressed 
herself  "  We  have  been  told  that  this  venerable 
mansion  was  the  residence  and  head-quaa*ters  of  Sir 
William  Howe  during  the  British  occupation  of 
New  York,  and  that  a  room  in  it  was  sometime 
occupied  by  the  unfortunate,  but  ever-regretted 
Major  Andre — is  it  so,  madam  ?" 

"  It  is,  sir,  and  we  shall  he  happy  to  comply  with 
your  wish  to  see  the  room  which  is,  even  to  us,  an 
object  of  interest  from  its  association  with  the 
memory  of  a  brave  and  accomplished  though  un- 
fortunate gentleman.  My  daughter  and  I  will  ac- 
company you,  as  our  major-domo  is  neither  the 
most  intelligent  nor  intelligible  o^  ciceroni.  Bertha, 
my  dear !  Major  Montague  and  Captain  Bellew— 
my  daughter,  gentlemen  !" 

Whether  the  gentlemen's  eyes  had  or  had  not 
been  straying  towards  the  graceful  occupant  of  the 
reoess,  they  had  not  attempted  to  address  her,  and 


,  * 


■I  •■  ,• 


WW 


Mi' 


174 


OLD    AND    NEW  j    OR, 


y'lAi;:!! 


•  ( '  . 


m. 


u 


now  when  she  rose  to  acknowledge  the  introductiorij 
they  both  bowed  in  silence,  even  the  captain  with  a 
Bort  of  restraint  that  was  very  different  from  his 
previous   manner,  whilst  his  more   reserved  com 
panion  scarcely  bent  his  proud  head. 

A  rich  glow  like  that  of  the  setting  sun's  last 
beam  suffused  Bertha's  face ;  it  was  only  for  a  mo- 
ment, but  that  very  moment  Montague  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  stiff,  geometrical  lines  on  the  Persian 
carpet,  and  looked  her  full  in  the  face.  Their  eyes 
met  for  an  instant,  but  whatever  passed,  or  if  any- 
thing passed,  no  particular  emotion  was  visible  on 
either  side — both  bowed,  civilly  but  rather  coldly, 
as  a  close  observer  could  not  fail  to  have  perceived. 
It  might  have  been  only  fancy,  though,  for  coldness 
and  reserve  seemed  natural  to  both  lady  and  gentle- 
man. 

"  Major  Andre's  room  is  on  the  second  story,"  said 
Madam  Von  Wiegel,  movieg  towards  the  door. 

"  Could  not  your  servant  show  us  the  room, 
madam  'r"  said  the  Major.  "  We  cannot  permit  you 
to  take  so  much  trouble  in  order  to  gratify  the 
whim  of  two  idle  tourists." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir !  What  you  call  trouble  is  really 
a  pleasure  to  us." 

"  In  that  case,  permit  me  to  offer  my  arm  !" 

Strangely  enough  the  old  lady  had  just  taken  the 
captain's  arm,  which  that  lively  gentleman  offered 
with  a  smile  and  a  bow. 


i;., 


"m^ 


w 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


175 


With  a  comical  side-long  glance  at  his  friend,  tha 
captain  moved  on  with  the  lady  of  the  mansion  on 
his  arm. 

Montague  looked  at  Bertha,  and  was  evidently 
about  to  offer  the  rejected  arm  for  her  acceptance, 
but  the  cold  smile  that  curved  her  lip  brought  the 
red  blood  to  his  cheek  and  he  walked  on  in  silence 
by  her  side. 

In  this  order  they  all  ascended  the  broad,  easy 
stairs,  and  reaching  a  wide,  cheerful  corridor  lit 
from  a  larr<*e  window  on  the  staircase,  Bertha  stepped 
forward  and  opened  a  door  about  midway  on  one 
side. 

"  This,  gentlemen,  is — or  was  Major  Andre's  room. 
The  furniture  has  undergone  little  alteration,  as  you 
may  perceive,  since  he  slept  for  the  last  time  on 
yonder  couch,"  pointing  to  a  low,  uncurtained  bed, 
very  much  resembling  a  camp-bed,  which  stood 
with  its  head  to  the  wall  between  the  two  windows 
that  gave  light  to  the  room. 

She  was  about  to  open  the  window  curtains,  bat 
Montague's  voice  arrested  her,  and  she  turned  in- 
voluntarily to  look  into  his  face,  his  tone  was  so 
earnest. 

'•  Do  not,  Miss  Von  Wiegel !  pray  do  not !  Ex- 
cuse me,"  he  added,  with  a  sudden  change  of  man- 
ner, as  it  were  recollecting  himself  "  I  know  not 
how  it  may  be  with  others,  but  to  my  thinking  thi/ 
veiled  light  through  those  curtains  is  more  in  keep 
ing  with  the  saddening  associations  of  the  place.' 


?> 


.,'-  t 
.>&..'• 


•m 


's 


Jt' 


V   .!'• 


;•     * 


■  ..I ,,, , 


.     •*■ 

176 


OLC    AND    KKW  ;    OR, 


"  I  believe  you  are  right,  Montague !"  said  his 
friend  in  a  subdued  tone,  even  he  feeling  the  sombre 
influence  of  the  scene. 

Bertha  quietly  withdrew  her  hand  from  the  cur- 
tain and  bowed  her  acquiescence;  she  sighed,  but 
BO  low  that  no  one  heard  her ;  it  was  on  her  lips  to 
eay  that  she  never  voluntarily  admitted  a  strong 
light  mto  the  room  where  the  melancholy  shade  of 
Andre  seemed  etill  to  hover  over  every  object,  but 
she  checked  herself  and  remained  silent. 

AVhilst  the  captain  walked  round  tlie  room  with 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  still  by  his  side,  Major  Mon- 
tague stood  in  thoug'  tful  mood  with  his  arm  resting 
on  the  low  mantel-piece ;  Bertha  watched  hirn  for 
a  moment — it  was  evident  to  her,  by  the  expression 
of  his  face,  that  the  sad  story  of  poor  Andre  was 
not  in  sole  possession  of  his  mind,  and  a  strange 
smile  curved  her  own  lip ;  all  at  once  he  started, 
looked  up,  and  catching  the  expression  of  Bertha's 
face  where  she  stood  at  a  little  distance,  he  colored, 
bit  his  lip,  and  then  smiled,  too,  with  a  careless  and 
unembarrassed  air. 

"I  was  thinking,  Miss  Von  Wiegel !"  said  he  with 
perfect  composure,  "  of  the  one  who  divided  poor 
Andre's  heart  with  his  country's  cause — I  fancy  the 
thought  of  how  keenly  she  would  feel  his  disgrace 
must  have  been  to  him  amid  all  the  anticipated 
horrors  of  a  spy's  death,  what  Shakspeare  describes 
ingratitude — more  keen  than  serpent's  tooth.  It 
was  souietbing— oh !  much — to  know  that,  thougb 


f   ^ 


,  •.;>  ■■:^^ 


tastr  versus  fashion. 


177 


all  the  world  condemned,  she  would  never  believo 
liiiii  guilty."     He  added,  as  if  halt"  unconsciously  : 

"  Yes  !  weep,  and  however  my  foes  may  cundema 
Thy  tears  shall  effdce  their  decree, 
For  heaTen  can  witness,  tho'  guilty  to  them 
I  have  been  but  too  faithful  to  thee!" 

Without  looking  at  Bertha — and  she  was  glad  he  did 
not — he  walked  quickly  to  the  other  end  of  the  large 
square  chamber  where  Madam  Von  Wiegel  was 
giving  his  friend  some  interesting  details  which  tra 
dition  had  handed  down  concerning  the  former 
tenant  of  the  room,  and  the  stern  commander  whoso 
tortuous  policy  proved  so  fatal  to  him. 

They  next  visited  the  drawing-room  which  had 
been  the  receptioti-room  of  Lady  Howe;  independ- 
ent of  the  associations  connected  with  it,  and  the 
brilliant  memories  the  sight  of  it  conjured  up,  the 
spacious  room  was  nowise  remarkable,  except  for 
the  elegant  simplicity  of  the  furniture,  and  the  taste 
displayed  in  its  arrangement,  the  whole  having  a 
som-ewhat  more  modern  aspect  than  any  of  the 
other  apartments.  The  hangings  were  of  blue  da- 
mask, and  the  sofas  and  chairs  and  ottomans  were 
covered  with  the  same,  as  was  also  a  divan  which 
occupied  the  centre  of  the  room.  The  walls  on 
either  side  of  the  large,  old-fashioned  fireplace  were 
graced  with  portraits  of  Madam  Von  Wiegel  and 
her  deceased  husband,  taken  evidently  a  score  of 
years  before,  when  age  had  not  yet  wrinkled  the 
brow  or  bleached  the  hair  ol"  either.     The  Rittei 


* 


:| 


»•  ^-<, 


•^M'^ 


i  t 


178 


OT,n    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


;v4 ,. 


I 


.'  -Hull 


'1* 

■'t.l 

1 

Von  Wiegel  was  represented  as  a  tall  and  rather 
slender  figure  slightly  bent,  with  a  finely-shaped 
head  and  features  of  a  most  prepossessing  cast, 
though  marked  by  the  strong  peculiarities  of  his 
race;  the  complexion  was  fair  and  the  eyes  light, 
with  a  certain  solidity  of  look  that  approached  to 
heaviness,  indicating  his  Teutonic  origin.  Still  it 
was  a  handsome  face  expressive  of  good,  rather 
than  great  qualities,  and  you  felt  as  yon.  looked  on 
it  that  the  Kitter  Von  Wiegel  was  in  his  lifetime  a 
man  who  had  few  or  no  enemies  and  many  friends. 

Opposite  was  the  portrait  of  Bertha,  in  a  dark- 
green  riding  habit,  which  showed  to  advantage  the 
beautiful  symmetry  of  her  form,  whilst  the  low- 
crowned  hat,  with  its  long  ostrich  plume  shading 
her  brow,  completed  the  grace  and  majesty  of  the 
fissure.  The  dark  lustrous  eves  beamed  down  from 
the  canvas  with  a  sweet  thoughtfulness  in  their  clear 
depths,  and  there  was  earnestness  and  self  control 
impressed  on  every  feature,  the  light  of  genius  plaj/ 
ing  over  all.  It  was  a  beautiful  face,  and  when 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  stopped  before  it  with  her 
companion  he  could  not  repress  his  admiration. 

"  By  Jove !  madam,  that  is  a  picture  worth  look* 
ing  at  P' 

The  old  lady  smiled.  "  As  much  as  to  say,  cap- 
tain !  that  the  others  were  not  so  !" 

"  I  beg  a  thousand  pardons,  madam !  I  should 
do  injustice  to  the  artistic  excellence  of  the  other 
portraits  and  also  to  the  original  subjects  were  I  to 


'U\ 


>  f- 


TASTft    VERSUS    FASHION'. 


179' 


say  or  insinuate  any  such  thing.  I  think  I  may  say 
without  being  suspected  of  flattery,  that  what  tho 
drlginal  of  this  picture  is,  the  original  of  that  vf^K^V 
'i'lirning  and  pointing  to  the  maternal  portrait,  and 
1  (owing  at  the  same  time  to  the  really  handsome 
old  lady. 

"I  say  Montague !"  said  the  captain,  "have  you 
seen  this  portrait  ?' 

"  Yes,"  said  vhe  major  carelessly  ;  he  was  turning 
over  the  leaves  of  a  volume  of  engravings  that  lay 
on  one  of  the   tables.     "  Have  you  seen  these  en 
gravings  ?— they   are   copies  of  Raphael's   Madon 
nas ; 

"  If  you  rjre  a  lover  of  the  arts.  Captain  Bellew  !" 
Faid  Bertha,  who  was  arranging  the  flowers  in  a 
vase,  "you  will  find  them  worthy  of  attention." 

Here  the  door  opened^  and  a  dashing  young  fel- 
low in  the  undress  uniform  of  the  United  States 
army  made  his  appearance,  and  in  the  easiest  and 
most  careless  way  imaginable  was  walking  across 
^iie  room  to  Bertha,  saying  in  a  gay  and  lightsome 
tone :  "  You  must  wish  n>e  joy„  Bertha !  I  have  got 
my  commission,  at  last  !"  when  perceiving  the 
strangers  he  drew  himself  up,  and  bowed  first  to 
Madam  Von  Wiegel,  then  to  Ber*^ha — very  slightly 
to  the  gentlemen. 

"Good  morning,  Robert !*'  said  Bertha  advanc 
ing  to   shake   hands  with  the   young   officer;  "so 
vou've   got   your   commission  !     I   am  very,  very 
[^}'m\.    I  dare  say  your  father  and  Alice  are  glad,  too 


ri 


:1' 


t, 
•JfM 


it,. 


« 


180 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


though,  after  all,  it  will  deprive  us  of  your  society 
just  when  we  have  learned  to  value  it." 

"Perhaps  not,"  said  her  mother;  "  have  you  any 
idea,  Robert,  where  you  are  to  be  sent  ?" 

"  Not  the  slightest,  madam  !  but  I  am  willing  to 
go  '  wherever  duty  calls  me,'  as  tlie  old  song  says 
— provided  I  am  not  forgotten  by — my  friends !' 
and  he  glanced  furtively  at  Bertha. 

"  The  girls  we  leave  behind  us,^^  said  the  merry 
captain,  "  are  apt  to  stand  in  the  foreground  on 
such  occasions.  Excuse  me,  sir !  I  speak  from 
experience,  for  I,  too,  have  the  honor  of  bt^ng  a 
son  of  Mars,  and  my  first  parting  from  hoiiv  and 
loved  ones  is  not  yet  forgotten." 

The  soldierly  frankness  of  Bellew's  manner  quite 
disarmed  Robert,  who  had  been  rather  disposed  to 
resent  this  abrupt  speech.  He  exchanged  a  polite 
bov/  with  the  captain,  and  looked  at  his  companion, 
but  seeing  no  encouragement  in  his  apparently- 
supercilious  silence,  and  the  cold  reserve  of  his 
manner,  Robert  eyed  nim  without  speaking  aad 
turned  again  to  the  captain. 

And  may  I  ask,  sir !  to  what  service  i/ou  belong  ?" 
Of  course  you  may — I  serve  Her  Majesty  the 
Queen  of  Great  Britain,  and  my  name  is  Bellew— 
Captain  Bellew." 

"  And  my  name.  Captain  Bellew  !  is  Murray — till 
this  morning  a  Cadet  in  the  Military  Academy  nt 
West  Point — for  the  last  hour  Second  Lieutenant  in 
thp  " United  States  regiment  of  infantry.*' 


(< 


(( 


'; 


TASTE    VKRSUS    FASHION. 


181 


"  I  wish  you  joy,  sir,  ot  your  appointment — oura 
Is  a  noble  profession !"  said  the  captain,  and  the  two 
officers  shook  hands. 

"  But  by  your  name  you  ought  to  be  Irish,"  said 
Robert  Murray — "  do  you  belong  to  the  Bellews  of 
Louth  of  whom  I  have  so  often  heard  ?" 

"  I  do,  but  not  exactly  to  the  Bellcwstown  family.* 

''  I  thought  you  must  be  Irish,"  said  Robert ; 
"  there  is  no  possibility  of  mistaking  an  Irish  gentle- 
man — when  we  have  the  good  fortune  to  meet  him." 

"  Well !  and  what  do  you  suppose  my  friend  here 
is  ?"  said  Bellew  laughing  and  indicating  the  major 
by  a  side-nod. 

Murray  turned  and  glanced  upwards  again  at  the 
dark  handsome  face  over  which  a  faint  smile  was 
now  breaking  like  the  Ai^rii  sun  through  the  wintry 
clouds  that  sometimes  darken  the  early  spring. 
Strangely  enough  he  looked  at  Bertha  before  he 
answered,  and  he  colored  to  the  temples  when  he 
saw  her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the  face  he  had  been 


exammmg. 


"  Really  I  cannot  say,"  said  Robert  turning  away 
rather  pettishly.  "  Whatever  the  gentleman  is,  he 
is  not  an  Irishman — rather  a  Spanish  hidalgo,  I  think 
— or  a  Turkish  Bey !"  he  muttered  to  himself,  then 
paying  something  in  a  low  voice  to  Madam  Von 
Wiegel,  he  nodded  to  Bertha  and  Captain  Bellew 
and  left  the  room. 

"  Is  he  gone,  mother  ?"  said  Bertha  in  surprise , 
"  why  I  wanted  to  ask  him  how  Alice's  oough  is  to 


%■ 


V.       ■ 


f  > 


182 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


J      :■'•«' 


day  and  whether  they  went  up  the  river  yesterday 
as  they  intended."  "You  can  still  ask  him,  then,'* 
said  her  mother,  "  he  is  only  gone  down  to  the 
parlor." 

"  A  fine  young  fellow  that !"  said  Bellew  to  his 
friend. 

"  I  cannot  say  much  for  his  politeness,"  Montague 
returned  with  a  smile. 

"  Pooh  !  pooh  !  he's  only  a  boy,  you  know !" 

"  If  he  be,  he  is  a  boy  of  considerable  preten- 
sions  " 

"  That  I  grant  you,"  the  captain  rejoinjed  with 
emphasis. 

"  Madam  Von  Wiegel,"  said  the  major  approach 
ing  the  old  lady,  who  had  seated  herself  on  a  sofa, 
"  I  fear  we  are  trespassing  on  your  time,  and  at  tht 
same  time  presuming  on  your  kindness.  Permit  us 
to  thank  you  for  your  polite  attention,  and  the  very 
great  pleasure  you  have  afforded  us." 

"  I  am  happy.  Major  Montague,"  said  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  with  her  grave  courtesy,  'Hhat  we  have 
been  able  to  contribute  even  in  a  slight  degree  to 
your  entertainment  and  that  of  your  friend.  British 
officers  though  you  be,  unlike  my  young  friend 
Robert  Murray,  I  can  confidently  claim  you  boik  for 
countrymen.     I  am  not  mistaken,  am  1  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  madam  1"  began  the  major.  "  If 
you  are " 

He  stopped  short,  and  hesitated,  for  he  had  caught 
an  ironical  glancr  from  Bertha,  where  she  stood  ar- 


■  m' 


:  I" 

-  II' 


TASTE  VERSUS  FASHION. 


183 


ranging  the  cover  on  a  harp  that  stood  enveloped  in 
green  baize  in  a  corner  opposite. 

"  Irish  !"  repeated  Madam  Von  Wiegel ;  "  need 
you  ask  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  madam,"  put  in  the  captain  jusi 
as  the  major  had  said  it  before;  "though  your 
speech  does  not  betray  you,  there  is  that  about  you 
which  speaks  to  us  of  home.  There  is  a  freemasonry, 
you  know,  existing  between  persons  from  the  same 
country  that  places  them  at  once  on  an  easy  footing. 
We  must  not  longer  trespass  on  your  time,  as  my 
right  honorable  and  gallant  friend  says — (I  speak  in 
parliamentary  style,  you  see)  -for  which  reason, 
madam !  we  shall  now  bid  you  good  morning.*'  Ha 
made  his  bow,  as  did  the  major,  and  both  turned  to 
look  for  Bertha,  but  she  had  vanished. 

"  Not  so  soon,  gentlemen,"  said  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  standing  up;  "  you  will  do  us  the  fiivor  of 
sharing  our  early  lunch  before  you  go  ?" 

The  gentlemen  looked  at  each  other,  and  then  the 
captain  said,  in  his  blithesome  way:  "The  offer  is 
too  tempting,  madam,  to  be  on  any  account  re- 
jected." 

When  Madam  Von  W^iegel  and  the  two  ofticers 
descended  to  the  breakfast  parlor  where  she  had 
ordered  lunch  to  be  served,  they  found  Bertha  and 
Robert  Murray  standing  before  the  fireplace  in 
earnest  conversation.  As  they  enteicd,  Bertha 
turned  away  with  what  seemed  a  disturbed  air,  and 
Robert  threw  himself  on  a  seat, with  a  muttered 


184 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


%^^- 


anathema  on  something  or  somebody  t'lat  had  roused 
his  ire — very  hot  while  it  lasted,  but  that  was  never 
long. 

"Will  you  not  join  us,  Robert?"  said  Madam 
Von  Wiegei  as  she  took  her  seat. 

"  No,  thank  you !  I  have  an  appointment  at  one, 
and  it  is  now  after  twelve." 

"  But  surely,"  said  Bertha,  "  you  can  Innch  with 
Tis  and  still  keep  your  appointment.  You  will  not 
refuse  my  mother's  invitation  ?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily  a  moment,  she  smiled 
and  beckoned  him  over,  and  he  seated  himself  at  the 
table  laughing  and  saying  pleasantly:  "It  is  not 
often,  Captain  Bellew,  one  meets  such  good  com- 
pany." 

"  True,  my  young  friend !  and,  moreover,  ladies' 
commands  are  law  to  us  soldiers.  Permit  me  to 
pledge  you,  lieutenant !  in  this  excellent  claret." 

"  With  much  pleasure,  captain !  I  drink  to  our 
better  acquaintance ! — may  I  ask  how  long  you  have 
been  in  New  York  ?" 

"  About  a  week — we  have  been  exploring  in  the 
neighborhood,  chiefly  amongst  the  historical  scenes 
on  the  Hudson  hereabouts.  We  have  also  spent  ?> 
couple  of  pleasant  days  at  Sannyside  with  the  patri- 
arch of  American  literature." 

"  Oh !  you  mean  Washington  Irving — I  have  not 
the  pleasure  of  knowing  him  personally." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  most  amiable  of  men  and  ao- 
oompliehed  of  literati,*'  obeoi'ved  the  major;  "  he 


>  i 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION, 


185 


reminds  me  more  than  any  one  else  of  our  own 
Rogers,  whose  urbanity  and  benevolence  are  so 
justly  celebrated." 

*'  Then  you  know  Samuel  Rogers  ?"  asked  Bertha 
abstractedly ;  she  was  looking  very  thoughtful  just 
then. 

"  Yes,  I  met  him  at  Hampton  Court  when  I  went 
down  with  some  friends  to  visit  the  old  place.  1 
was  just  after  reading  the  Pleasures  of  Memory,  and 
was  rejoiced  to  meet  its  author  under  such  circum- 
stances. It  was  no  ordinary  pleasure  to  have  the 
privilege  of  supporting  the  poet's  failing  steps  for 
an  hour  or  two  through  the  scenes  of  Wolsey's 
greatest  splendor — where  every  ob|<3Ct  bore  the 
impress  of  his  gorgeous  taste,  and  his  colossal  shadow 
rested  on  all.** 

"  It  loas  a  pleasure,*'  said  Bertha,  her  cheek  slightly 
flushed ;  "  yes  memory  has  its  pleasures — though  all 
memories  are  nof  pleasant — however,"  she  added 
quickly,  '*  Hampton  Court  is  a  place  of  ma/ty  memo- 
ries— alas !  how  strangely  varied  !" 

"  Well !"  said  the  captain,  desirous  of  giving  the 
conversation  a  more  lively  turn,  *'  you  may  talk  as 
you  will  about  the  '  Pleasures  of  Memory,'  but  give 
me  the  '  Pleasures  of  Hope.'  A  bas  Rogers  and 
Vive  Campbell,  say  I !'' 

"  I  vote  for  Campbell,  too,*'  said  Robert,  "  but  on 
different  grounds.  I  admire  him  as  the  classically- 
elegant  author  of  the  'Pleasures  of  Hope,'  but  I 
love  him  as  the  sweet  singer  whose  deathless  lay 


'^'^<i 


186 


OLD    AN1>    NKW  ;    OR, 


I 


I- 


}  ^ti 


has  tbrown  dignity  and  grace  around  the  sorrows 
of  '  the  Exile  of  Erin.'  Scotchman  as  he  was, 
Thomas  Campbell  had  an  Irish  heart,  and  the  Irish 
people  and  their  descendants  in  every  clime  owe 
him  a  debt  of  gratitude.  lie  has  left  us  in  that 
immortal  ballad  a  legacy  of  love,  and  a  pledge  of 
sympathy  as  warm  as  ever  glowed  in  a  poet's  heart.' 

The  young  man  spoke  with  unwonted  warmth, 
and,  seeing  the  silent  attention  with  which  his  words 
were  heard,  he  was  half  ashamed,  and  blushed  like 
a  bashful  maiden. 

Bertha  looked  her  approbation,  and  her  beaming 
smile  encouraged  Robert  and  served  to  restore  his 
compo.iure. 

"  Why,  Robert,"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel  kindly, 
"  you  have  grown  eloquent  of  late.  I  was  not  aware 
that  the  joys  or  sorrows  of  poor  distant  Ireland — a 
country  which  you  never  saw — could  call  forth  your 
enthusiasm  to  such  a  degree." 

"  I  am  sorry,  madam,  that  you  should  ever  have 
doubted  my  love  for  Ireland.  True,  I  never  saw  it, 
but  the  day  on  which  I  see  it  first  shall  be  marked 
in  white  on  my  life's  calendar.  Why  should  I  no^, 
love  and  honor  it  ? — what  land  on  earth  has  so  many 
claims  on  the  love  and  honor  of  its  children — and 
their  children  ?" 

"  Can,  then,  a  man  have  two  countries  ?"  asked 
the  captain  in  a  more  serious  tone  than  he  had  yet 
Bpoken  in. 

"  Yes,*'  said  Robert  promptly  and  frankly:  "/have 


TASTK    VERSUS    FASHIOV. 


187 


two  countries  : — Ireiand,  tlie  craclle  of  my  race,  the 
{▼rave  of  my  fathers,  the  most  faithful  of  Christian 
nations — America,  or  rather  the  United  States  of 
America,  the  land  of  my  birth,  tlie  land  of  home  and 
friends,  the  freest  under  the  sun.  Both  are  equally 
dear  to  my  heart,  and  for  either  I  am  willing  to 
shed  my  blood." 

"Bravo,  lieutenant!"  cried  Belle w  warmly,  "your 
sentiments  do  you  honor,  and,  upon  my  honor,  you 
have  infused  a  kindred  spirit  into  me.  Of  course  I 
do  not  mean  to  say  that  I  did  not  love  <^ur  old 
motherland  before — that  would  not  be  true — but  I 
am  not  ashamed  to  own  that  I  have  learned  a  lesson 
from  an  American  officer,  and  for  the  future  /,  too, 
will  have  two  countries  ?" 

"  Two^  will  you?"  asked  Montague  in  a  significant 
tone. 

"  Confound  it,  no !"  was  the  energetic  reply  of 
the  mercurial  captain ;  "  we,  after  all,  can  have  but 
one — we  wear  the  livery  of  England,  and  receive 
her  pay — at  her  behest  we  will  draw  our  swords, 
but  when  it  comes  to  a  question  of  country — patHe^ 
you  know — why,  we  can  have  but  one — En^Ia7id  can 
never  he  to  the  Irishmen  who  serve  her  what  Columbia 
in  to  her  Irish'men.  We  are  faithful  to  her  cause  not 
from  love  but  from  honor." 

"  Come,  come  !"  said  the  major  with  a  melancholy 
imile  and  a  quivering  lip,  "  you  forget  the  presence 
of  your  superior  officer — I  fear  I  shall  be  under  the 
necessity  of  submitting  your  case  to  a  court-martial." 


4r* 


v".^*- 


188 


OI,P    A\D    NEW  ;    OR, 


.  i  '■■   ■ 


"•■;,}■*';■ 


"  It  were  a  good  deed,'*  said  Bertha  pointedly,  "  to 
hand  him  over  to  British  justice  for  ackn  owl  edging 
the  heinous  crime  of  loving  his  native  land.     Yes 
^|.  were  a  deed  to  boast  of  at  the  mess-table  !" 

The  captain  looked  surprised — Robert  started  up 
and  looking  at  his  watch  said  he  had  but  a  few 
minutes  to  get  to  the  place  of  his  appointment,  and 
having  shaken  hands  cordially  with  the  captain  and 
the  ladies,  bowed  to  the  major  and  hurried  away, 
preceded  by  Jan  to  open  the  door. 

The  two  officers  then  rose  to  take  their  leave, 
with  a  renewed  expression  of  their  thanks. 

"  Our  acquaintance  must  not  end  here,  though," 
said  Madam  Von  Wiegel;  "  we  shall  be  happy  to 
see  you  often  during  your  stay  in  New  York." 

Captain  Bellew  accepted  the  offe*  with  visible 
pleasure,  Major  Montague  with  a  hesitation  that 
was  not  very  flattering,  to  say  the  Irast  of  it,  and  an 
air  of  cool  indiiference  that  did  not  escape  the  ladies, 
and  tended  no  little  to  confirm  Madam  Yon  Wiegel 
in  her  prepossession  against  him. 

"  What  a  cold  impassible  man  that  is !"  said  she 
after  the  gentlemen  had  taken  their  leave. 

"  Who  do  yo'^  mean,  mother  ?'*  asked  Bertha  with 
a  start. 

"Why,  who  cotild  I  mean  but  that  Major  Mon- 
tague? Captain  Bellew  I  like  very  much,  indeed, 
but  his  friend  is  one  of  those  persons  with  whom  I 
could  never  feel  at  ease.  Still  there  is  something 
tbout  him,  I  know  not  what,  that  gives  you  the 


TASTF.    VF.RSrS    PASHlOJf. 


189 


impression  of  a  very  superior  person — far,  indeed, 
above  the  common  level — and  lie  is,  without  excep- 
tion, one  of  the  handsomest  men  I  have  seen,  with 
manners  that  a  prince  might  envy.     But  yet- 


II 


(( 


But  yet  he  is  not  to  my  dear  mother's  taste?" 
said  Bertha  in  a  lower  tone  than  usual,  and  a  faint, 
a  very  faint  smile.  "  Well !  I  dare  say  you  may  be 
right.  There  is  too  much  of  the  field-marshal  about 
him  for  most  people's  liking.  Still  appearances  are 
Bometimes  deceitful,  so  let  us  not  judge  our  new 
acquaintance  too  harshly  at  first." 

When  Bertha  found  herself  alone  after  the  rush 
and  whirl  of  the  day's  emotions,  she  threw  herself 
on  a  sofa  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands.  "  What 
am  I  to  think?"  she  murmured.  "He  was  not  in 
town  two  weeks  ago — it  could  not  have  been  he ! — 
was  it,  then,  after  all,  imagination  ? — yet  the  hand- 
kerchief could  not  have  been  so — surely  that  was 
reality — but  those  initials  may  not  have  been  his  ? 
mystery  on  mystery  !  does  he  contiiue  worthy  of 
my  love  ?  alas  !  I  know  not — God  knows.  I  shall 
Bee  him  again,  however,  and  even  that  is  some- 
thing.'* With  this  thought  she  composed  her  mind, 
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CHAPTER  X. 

rU£  CAB  0?  TRIUMPH,  TWO  NICE  YOUNG  MEN,  AND  A 

ROUGH  CUSTOMER. 

"  My  goodness  gracious !  girls,  come  here !"  cried 
one  of  the  Miss  Hacketts,  on  the  Sunday  appointed 
for  the  grand  demonstration  at  No.  66,  "  Will  you 
come  quick,  I  say  ?" 

To  this  imperative  demand  the  other  two  re- 
sponded by  approaching  the  window  at  which  their 
sister  stood,  in  a  double  quick  march. 

In  answer  to  their  impatient  interrogatories  as  to 
the  cause  of  the  peremptory  summons,  Ann  Wil- 
helmina  pointed  to  a  phenomenon  which  stood,  in 
the  foria  of  a  carriage  and  pair,  at  the  door  of  the 
Gallagher  n.ansion. 

"Dear  me  I  what  a  beautiful  carriage!"  "Isn't 
jt  grand  ?"  "  Where  did  it  come  from  ?"  «  Why, 
sure/i/,  it  a'nt  their  own!"  "La!  if  it  were,  no- 
body could  stand  thera,  and,  goodness  knows,  but 
they're  bad  enough  now !"  "  My  gracious  !  can  it 
be  their  own  ?    Do  let  us  watch  and  see  !'* 

The  clouds  of  uncertainty  soon  rolled  away,  for 
out  came  Mrs.  Tom  Gallagher,  and  after  her,  in 
quick  succession,  the  three  eldest  of  her  unmarried 
daughters,  all  "  rolling  in  silks,"  as  Atty  Garrell 
would  say     No  cavalier  being  in  attendance,  the 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


191 


four  ladies  assisted  e&ch  other  into  the  carriage,  and 
there  established  themselves  in  the  most  luxuriously- 
easy  postures — then  the  liveried  coachman  closed 
tlie  door  and  mounted  his  box,  and  cracked  his 
whip  in  true  Jehu  style,  and  dashed  down  the  street 
aiid  turned  out  on  the  avenue,  (agreeable,  it  was 
supposed,  to  previous  instructions,)  leaving  the  three 
Miss  Hacketts  at  their  window,  and  Tom  Gallagher 
at  hia  window — for  some  reason  best  known  to  him- 
self he  had  positively  refused  to  ride  to  Church  that 
first  day  in  the  new  carriage — his  two  younger 
daughters  at  another  point  of  observation,  and  Mrs. 
Fogarty  and  Julia  at  their  window — for  they,  too, 
had  discovered  the  strange  appearance  at  the  Gal- 
lagher door — and,  in  short,  a  dozen  others  in  the 
vicinity,  all  at  the  windows,  and  in  a  perfect  state  of 
bewilderment, wondering  whether  they  were  sleeping 
or  waking ; — in  this  latter  condition  of  doubt,  Tom 
was  not  exactly  included,  that  worthy  man  being 
quite  satisfied  that  the  vision  was  real,  and  repre- 
sented one  thing  with  another  some  two  thousand 
odd  dollars  of  his  honest  money,  between  carriage, 
horses,  harness,  livery,  ladies'  dresses,  jewelry  and 
all.  Truly  it  was  a  goodly  show,  and  as  it  rolled 
on  and  on  through  the  crowded  streets  many  an  ad- 
miring, and,  perhaps,  envying  glance  was  cast  on 
the  fortunate  quartette  of  ladies  who  sat  so  com- 
fortably 

"  On  cushions  made  with  taste," 

a«i  sung  by  Sam  Lover  for  the  love-sick  individual 


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who  preferred  to  all  more  pretentioas  equipages 
his  Peggy's  "  Low-back'd  car." 

Being  Sunday  morning  and  the  hour  for  "  last 
Mass,"  many  of  the  Gallaghers*  acquaintances  were 
found  amongst  the  crowds  on  the  trottoirs,  and 
great  was  the  astonishment  of  the  persons  so  taken 
b}  surprise.  Then  did  each  one  nudge  their  com- 
panion's elbow,  if  companion  they  had,  to  "  look  at 
Tom  Gallagher'u  people  in  a  grand  new  coach" — 
th«n,  too,  did  these  pedestrians  endeavor  to  catch 
the  eye  of  any  of  the  ladies  in  the  carriage,  and 
if  they  succeeded  in  obtaining  a  recognition,  with 
how  much  importance  did  they  look  round  to  see 
how  many  noticed  the  honor  they  had  received  in 
being  favored  with  a  look  or  a  smile  from  out  of 
such  an  equipage.  Nor  were  these  recognitions 
at  all  like  angels*  visits — they  were  neither  "  few 
nor  far  between,"  for  it  was  no  part  of  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher or  the  Misses  Gallaghers'  programme  to  hide 
themselves  from  public  view  whilst  exhibiting  their 
new  carriage.  /  -        ^ 

Arrived  at  the  Church-door,  the  excitement 
reached  its  climax,  which  climax  was  capped  by  an 
ironical  curtsey  from  a  neglected  cousin  of  Mrs. 
Gallagher's,  who  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  within 
speaking  distance  of  her  opulent  relative. 

"  Wisha,  then,  the  top  o*  the  mornin'  to  you, 
Nelly  Cooney !"  said  or  rather  cried  the  somewhat 
sluttish  individual,  whose  clothes,  in  addition  to  be- 
ing poor  and  mean,  looked  dirty  and  untidy.     "Ah  I 


TASTE    VER8U3    FAiv«ON. 


193 


Bure,  isn't  it  myself  that's  overjoyed  entirely  to  see 
you  comin*  ridin'  up  in  your  own  carriage,  with 
everything  on  you  so  grand  and  so  beautiful,  an* 
them  darlin'  fine  ladies,  your  daughters,  all  dre^^sed 
in  silk,  with  as  much  red  goold  on  them  and  you  a? 
would  make  a  lady  of  me!  Ooh!  Nelly!  Nelly! 
sure  its  little  you  thought  once  in  your  day  you'd 
ever  come  to  this ! — but  it's  givin'  me  the  could 
shoulder  she  is ! — augh !  see  what  it  i"  to  be  poor  !" 
she  wound  up,  with  a  comical  leer  al  the  by-standers 
who  were  well  disposed  to  enjoy  the  joke. 

Amongst  those  who  witnessed  this  amusing 
scene  were  Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  her  daughter, 
and  also  the  Murray s  who  were  alighting  at  the 
moment  from  Mr.  Murray's  modest  equipage,  from 
the  driver's  seat  of  which  Robert  sprang  to  hand 
out  the  ladies.  At  the  same  moment  Henry  Hack- 
ctt  and  his  son  Michael  stood  back  to  i  >ake  way 
for  their  passage  and  raised  their  hats  respectfully. 

"There,"  said  Henry  after  they  passed,  "there 
go  some  real  Irish  ladies — not  any  of  your  sham 
quality — and  just  look  at  the  difference  between 
them  and  the  Gallaghers  there  that  scarce  know 
which  end  of  them  is  uppermost  because  they  have 
nade  money  and  can  dress  in  style  and  drive  a 


carnagre 


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"  True  for  you,  Mr.  Hackett,"  said  a  decent- 
looking  elderly  man  near  him,  whose  sinewy  hands 
bespoke  the  son  of  toil;  "true  for  you,  sir!  it's 
easy  knowin'  them  that  were  always  used  to  good 


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dress  and  good  livin' — they  never  put  any  airs  on 
them,  for  they  know  the  people  will  respect  them 
anyhow  !  I  knew  them  ladies  and  gentlemen  were 
the  rale  sort  the  minute  I  laid  my  eyes  on  them." 

"  Well !  that  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Murray — tha 
young  officer  is  his  son — raised  himself  here  to 
what  he  is.  To  be  sure  he  came  of  decent  people 
at  home  and  had  a  good  share  of  education  when 
he  came  out,  but  still  he  was  low  enough  in  cash — 
Eo  he  told  me  himself  not  many  days  ago — but 
somehow  he  got  along  first-rate  here  and  God  pros- 
pered his  endayvors,  and  now  he's  worth  a  power 
of  money,  they  say,  and  nas  retired  from  business, 
and  I  tell  you  what  he's  just  the  man  that's  always 
ready,  too,  to  befriend  any  one  from  home  when 
they  stand  in  need  of  it.  A  gentleman  every  inch 
of  him,  and  so  is  his  son." 

"You  know  them  all  well,  Mr.  Hackett?"  said 
another  man  civilly.     '  ' 

"  Well !  I  can't  say  I  know  them  well,"  said 
Henry,  "  but  I'm  proud  to  say  that  both  families 
are  customers  of  mine,  and  a  good  spoke  in  my 
\s  heel  they  are,  too !" 

Here  the  Mass-bell  rang,  and  the  loiterers  on  th« 
steps  and  about  the  door  hurried  hat  in  hand  into 
the  Church  calm  and  collected  as  Christians  ought 
to  be  entering  the  house  of  God,  which  is  "  the 
house  of  prayer,"  and  "  the  place  where  His  glory 
dwelieth." 

After  the  new  turn-out  had  rolled  away,  and  van 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


195 


isheil  from  the  wondering  eyes  of  the  neighbors  of  Mrs. 
Gallagher  Tom  put  on  his  hat,  walked  to  25th  street, 
where  he  heard  Mass  in  St.  Columba's  Church,  with 
reverence  and  devotion.  Tom  Gallagher  was  at  heart 
a  good,  practical  Christian,  though  he  seldom  talked 
of  religion,  and,  indeed,  knew  only  as  much  about  it 
as  was  necessary  to  discharge  the  duties  it  pre- 
scribes. Tom  was  ^  controversialist,  or,  for  that 
matter,  any  other  ist — but  he  loved  his  religion,  and 
practised  its  precepts  to  the  best  of  his  ability  with- 
out either  affecting  piety,  or  going  out  of  his  way  to 
establish  a  reputation,  for,  as  he  used  to  say  himself, 
when  by  chance  the  subject  was  forced  upon  him : 
♦'  I  don't  care  one  brass  button  about  what  people 
think  of  me,  when  I  know  Fm  keepin'  the  Com- 
mandments of  God  and  the  Church,  and  doing  no 
hurt  or  harm  to  any  one — at  least  that  I  know 
of.' 

He  had  just  got  back  to  his  own  djoor  when  the 
carriage  drove  up,  and  Tom,  according  to  his  ideas 
of  politeness,  made  all  haste  to  open  the  carriage- 
door  and  let  the  ladies  out.  Peter,  finding  his 
office  forestalled,  drew  back  out  of  sight  grinning 
from  ear  to  ear. 

Poor  Tom  got  little  thanks  for  his  pains,  for  a 
chorus  of  "  wiy.?,"  and  "  /a*,"  and  "  dear  mes"  greeted 
his  ear  within  the  vehicle  as  soon  as  he  opened  it ; 
his  wife  looked  daggers — and  sharper  instruments 
if  they  could  be  looked — and  each  in  turn,  as  they 
stepped  from  the  carriage,  accosted  him  with : 


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"  Tom  Gallagher  !  you're  the  stupidest  man  living 
this  day  1" 

"  Dear  me,  pa !  what  a  thing  for  you  to  do  ! — I'm 
Burf*  you  might  know  better  than  that  at  any  rate  1" 

"  To  expose  us  so  before  Peter  and  all  the 
neighbors !" 

"Pa!  I'm  really  ashamed  of  you!'* 

Tom  looked  at  each  speaker  in  succession,  and 
stood  gazing  after  them  as  they  flounced  up  the 
steps  in  high  dudgeon,  with  a  most  ludicrous  ex- 
pression of  amazement  on  his  honest  countenance. 

"  Peter  1"  screamed  Miss  Gallagher  from  the  top 
of  the  steps,  in  a  falsetto  voice  loud  enough  to  bo 
heard  by  all  passers-by  ;  "  Peter,  ma  says  to  put  the 
horses  in  the  stable,  and  the  carriage  in  the  coach- 
house !" 

"  Yes,  miss !"  said  Peter  aloud  with  a  flourishing 
bow,  but  in  an  under  tone  he  added  :  "  I'd  like  to 
know  where  else  I'd  put  the  horses  but  in  the 
stable  ! — coach-house,  inagh  !  hadn't  we  better  wait 
tiW'iVBbuihr 

So  irreverently  soliloquized  Peter  as  he  dashed 
away  to  the  livery-stable  to  put  the  loves  of  irou- 
grays  in  the  way  of  getting  their  dinner. 

Meanwhile  the  offended  dignitaries  of  the  house- 
hold had  marched  j^i'ocessionally  into  the  hall,  fol* 
lowed  at  more  than  civil  distance  by  the  nominal 
owner  of  the  mansion,  who  felt  that  a  storm-cloud 
was  about  to  discharge  itself  on  his  devoted  head, 
though  of  what  kind  it  was  to  be — whether  rain, 


Taste  versus  pashiok 


1»7 


hail)  or  thuj'.ucr  auu  lightning,  he  was  not  sufficiently 
weather-wise  to  know  beforehand.  He  thought, 
however,  and,  perhaps,  thought  wisely,  that  the 
longer  the  cloud  was  gathering,  the  more  violent 
would  be  the  discharge  when  it  came. 

Closing  the  door  carefully  after  them,  then,  Tom 
screwed  his  courage  up  to  the  sticking  point,  and 
civilly  requested  to  know  in  what  he  bad  offended. 

The  whole  four  took  upon  themselves  to  answer, 
but  his  wife's  voice,  being  the  shrillest,  he  heard  her 
best. 

"  Yes !  you  may  well  ask,  Tom  Gallagher !  as  if 
you  didn  t  know  ! — it's  ashamed  of  yourself  you 
ought  to  be !  it  was  a  nice  thing,  wasn't  it,  now  ?  to 
see  the  likes  of  you,  Tom  Gallagher — a  man  that 
drives  his  own  carriage *' 

"  Faith  !  I  don't— Peter  drives  it." 

"  None  of  your  dry  jokes,  now !  I'm  in  no  joking 
humor,  I  can  tell  you.  I  say  wasn't  it  a  nice  thing 
to  see  you  coming  to  open  the  carriage-door  your- 
sell;  instead  of  lettin'  the  coachman  come  down  and 
open  it,  and  make  a  polite  bow  to  us  as  we  got 
out  ?" 

*'  Why,  bless  my  soul !"  cried  Tom,  "  I  thought  it 
was  just  the  thing  for  a  gentleman  like  me — ahem 
to  hand  the  ladies  out  when  I  chanced  to  be  to  the 
fore." 

"  Yes !  but  it  wasn't  just  the  thing  for  you  to 
open  the  door  yourself,  pa !  and  mind  you  don't  dc 
It  again !" 


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OLD  AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


Tom  promised,  as  per  force  he  should,  and  waa 
turning  away,  naturally  supposing  the  lecture  ended, 
but  it  was  not. 

"  Tom  Gallagher  !"  said  his  wife  when  she  caught 
a  full  view  of  his  outer  man  on  the  rear  side,  "  Tom 
Gallagher!"  elevating  her  voice  at  every  syllable 
till  it  reached  a  most  formidable  height,  "  do  you 
mean  to  say  you  went  tc  Church  in  that  trim  ?'* 

"  Why,  what  other  trim  would  I  go  in  ?'*  de- 
manded Tom,  who  was  growing  a  little  restive. 

"  Well !  now,  girls !  just  look  at  that !"  said  the 
excited  matron,  taking  hold  of  her  passive  lord  and 
master  and  turning  him  backwards  and  forwards  so 
as  to  give  the  young  ladies  a  full  view  of  him  front 
and  rear ;  "just  look  at  that  1  look  at  the  coat  he 
went  to  last  Mass  in — and  the  vest — and  the 
pants!" 

*  Why,  what's  the  matter  with  the  clothes  ?"  said 
Tom  stoutly  facing  the  enemy.  "  Do  you  see  any 
holes  in  them?"  ■         t, 

"No,  I  don't " 

"  Thunder  and  turf,  then !"  cried  Tom,  "  what's 
the  reason  you  make  such  a  rout  about  them  ?" 

"  Because  they're  not  tit  to  be  seen — that's  the 
reason — and  if  you  had  the  spirit  of  a  dog,  or  cared 
anything  at  all  about  your  family,  you  wouldn't  g«> 
to  last  Mass  on  a  Sunday  in  that  old  faded-look 
ing  suit!  Lord  help  us!"  she  added  pathetically, 
"  there's  little  use  in  our  trying  to  make  a  decent 


.y  • 


TA3TR    VERSUS    FASBIOM. 


199 


appearance,  or  get  into  any  sort  of  respect,  while 
that's  the  way  you  go  on  !" 

Here  one  of  the  young  ladies  opened  the  parloi 
door,  saying  as  she  did  so,  in  a  voice  loud  enough 
to  be  heard  all  through  the  room :  "  Why,  ma ' 
what's  the  use  of  your  talking  to  pa?  you  know 
you'll  never  get  /m;i  to  dress  with  any  kind  of  taste  ?'* 

Horror  of  horrors  !  the  parlor  was  not  vacant  as 
they  expected,  but  tenanted  by  two  young  gentle- 
men, excruciatingly  well-dressed,  and  in  fact  belong- 
ing undeniably  to  that  enviable  class  whose  peculiar 
neatness  is  vulgarly  and  very  generally  associated 
with  the  possible  inhabitants  of  band-boxes. 

These  well-dressed  young  gentlemen  found  it  no 
easy  matter,  we  may  suppose,  to  keep  their  respect- 
ive countenances,  especially  when  the  confusion  of 
the  mother  and  daughters  on  discovering  their  un- 
expected proximity  assumed  a  really  ludicrous  as- 
pect. They  were  so  much  intent  on  the  subject 
matter  of  their  visit,  however,  and  so  anxious  to 
cultivate'  the  favorable  opinion  of  the  family,  that 
they  succeeded  to  a  marvel  in  maintaining  their  com- 
posure. 

The  first  awkward  moment  being  over,  and  the 
somewhat  constrained  salutation  satisfactorily  ex- 
changed— the  visitors  being  introduced  to  "  ma" 
as  Mr.  Green  and  Mr.  Brown,  whom  the  young 
ladies  had  met  at  a  surprise  party*  a  few  evenings 

♦  To  our  readers  out  of  New  York,  and  especially  those  o: 
European  habits,  it  may  be  necessary  to  explain  what  manuei 


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l>efore.  The  truth  was  that  they  had  been  the 
theinu  of  many  a  critical  and  culogintic  uolioquy 
ever  bince  amongst  the  Gallagher  ladies,  and  '*  ni.i- 
herself  was  secretly  overjoyed  to  see  them.  As  lor 
Tom,  be  had  betaken  himself  from  the  hall  to  some 
othc^r  region  of  the  house,  impelled  by  a  gentle  hint 
from  his  wife  in  the  shape  of  a  thump  on  the  back 
from  her  little  wiry  fist,  together  with  a  vocal  ad- 
monition in  an  eager  whisper,  to  "  be  off  and  make 
himself  decent,  and  then  come  down  to  the  parlor." 
On  his  way  up  stairs  Tom  had,  I  regret  to  nay, 
some  serious  thoughts  of  disobeying,  but  the  pen- 
alty was  too  much  for  Tom's  courage  to  brave,  and 
the  combined  attack  of  six  able  and  efficient  vocal 
organs  was  not  to  be  idly  provoked,  so  Tom  pru- 
dently smothered  his  rebellious  inclination,  arrayed 
himself  in  his  best  black  suit,  and  resolutely  des- 
cended to  the  parlor,  where  he  found  the  gentlemen 
of  color  on  their  legs  and  in  the  act  of  bidding 
"good-bye"  to  the  ladies.  Another  introduction 
had,  of  course,  to  be  gone  through,  and  then  Tom 
asked  the  young  gentlemen  what  was  their  hurry — 
couldn*t  they  stay  and  have  a  Nt  of  dinner?  To 
which  Messrs.  Brown  and  Green  responded  that 
they  would  with  pleasure,  only  they  had  made  an 

•f  party  a  "  surprise  party"  is.  This  we  can  do  in  brief  by 
•tating  that  a  surprise  party  is  a  surprise.  Tlie  guests  arrange 
It  all  themselves — go  uninvited  ar-d  (are  supposed  to  be)  un- 
expected, and  take  their  supper  with  them.  As  far  as  we  knovi 
It  is  cue  of  our  "  American  institutions." 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


201 


rief  by 
arrange 
be)  un- 

e  know 


appointment  with  some  friends  to  go  down  to 
Staten  Ishind,  and  they  guessed  it  was  about  time  to 
he  oft'. 

"  Well !  you  mustn't  be  strangers,  now  !"  said 
Mrs.  Gallagher,  as  they  approached  in  turn  to  sliake 
hands  Avith  the  mistress  ot'the  mansion;  "you  must 
come  often  and  see  us." 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  Mrs.  Gallagher !  we'll 
8top  in  some  evening  soon,"  pointing  the  ^-omise 
at  the  young  ladies  with  their  bewitchingly  cxpres- 
give  eyes — as  Mag  and  Ellie  called  therp  wlien  the 
girls  got  a  chance  of  discussii  {;  the  visiw  that  aftor- 
noon. 

"  Expressive  indeed !"  saidFamiy  contcnptnously; 
'*  I  Uon  t  see  the  least  bit  of  expression  about  them  !** 

For  some  reason  best  known  to  hersfU*  Fanny's 
admiration  of  the  Green  and  Brown  beaux  had  de- 
cidedly cooled  down  during  the  recent  visit. 

"  You  don*t,  eh  ?"  said  Mag  with  a  saucy  laugh, 
winking  at  Ellie  at  the  same  time.  "  Well !  that  u 
surprising — a'nt  it,  Ellie  ?" 

"  Very  !"  was  Ellie's  response ;  "  but  it  a*nt  so 
surprising,  after  all,  Mag,  when  I  come  to  think  of 
it.  You  know  Fanny  has  a  great  partiality  for  the 
Irishy^*  speaking  with  an  air,  "  and  as  poor  Mr. 
Green  and  Mr.  Brown  don't  happen  to  be  '  Hirish,* 
as  the  Englishman  says,  why,  of  cours?,  they  a*nt  to 
her  taste." 

"  None  of  your  impudence,  miss !"  said  the  elder 
sister,  her  cheek  flaming  with  indignation ;  "  I  ha'nt 


'7. 


>.  : 


:ciM.,  ''■ 


*'■  r  •:. 


-■"■.•'<?./ 


Ifp 


)| 

» 

'• 

\'i 


■  '"It' 


•■■  u 


,    ,  •■;,| 

■■'.id 


1 

■I  ■    ■'      1 


0-'ll 


■  t.s 


>>i 


I*! 


202 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


«iny  more  likir  j  for  *  the  Irish'  than  you  have  your, 
st'lf,  and  Pm  not  so  hard  up  for  beaux  as  your  lady- 
Kliipa  think  !" 

"  My  !  Fanny,  don't  lose  your  temper  about  it !" 
said  the  provoking  Mag;  "  don*t  everybody  know 
the  only  admirer  you  have  is  that  vulgar  red-haired 
McConoghy." 

"Don't  dare  to  say  that  again!"  cried  Fanny, 
starting  to  her  feet  in  a  towering  passion.  "  If  ever 
i  hear  you  mention  McConoghy's  name  to  me,  I'll 
get  ma  to  close  the  doors  on  Green  and  Brown  !  I 
will! — so  mind  that!  Indeed,  I  think  it  would  be 
the  best  of  her  play,  at  any  rate,  not  to  encourage 
them  to  the  house,  for  I  think  they're  nothing  else 
but  a  pair  of  mean  scamps — do  you  hear  that,  now?" 

*'  Sour  grapes,  Fanny !"  said  Ellie,  whilst  Mag 
put  her  spread  fingers  to  her  nose  with  that  signifi- 
cant gesture  commonly  meant  to  express  the  phrase 
"Does  your  mother  know  you're  out?"  or  some  other 
equally  elegant  interrogatory  of  kindred  meaning. 

Luckily  for  the  peace  of  the  house,  a  ring  came 
to  the  door — a  loud,  full,  sonorous  ring,  and  the 
three  amiable  sisters  hurried  away  to  see  who  it 
was.  W  ho  should  it  be  but  the  veritable  McConoghy 
himself,  to  the  infinite  amusement  of  Ellie  and  Mag, 
the  great  annoyance  of  Fanny,  and  the  no  less  great 
satisfaction  of  their  father,  with  whom  this  per- 
sonage was  a  particular  favorite.  They  had  been 
friends  for  years  long;  McConoghy  had  kept  a 
small  grocery  near   Centre   Market;    which   busir 


■ti. .  . 


TASTR   VFRSUS    PASHTOW. 


203 


ness  had  been  lately  exchanged  for  a  clerkship  in  a 
wholesale  store  down  town,  which,  if  it  did  not  pay 
(jiiite  so  well,  was,  at  least,  more  stylish,  and  that 
WM  a  great  object  with  a  fresh,  florid,  good-looking 
widower  of  forty,  "  without  chick  or  child"  to  im- 
pede any  matrimonial  speculations  into  which  Mr. 
McConoghy  might  be  disposed  to  enter. 

A  brainless,  good-humored,  good-natured  fellow 
was  the  ex-grocer,  and  as  he  lofed  his  pipe  anil  his 
glass — both,  however,  in  moderation — and  once  in 
a  while  cracked  a  joke — just  such  a  broad  hearty 
joke  as  Tom  could  relish — why,  it  followed  as  a 
natural  consequence,  that  Tom  Gallagher  relished 
his  society  above  that  of  all  others,  and  always  wel- 
comed his  appearance  with  unbounded  cordiality. 
Nothing  was  more  natural,  under  such  circum- 
Ktances,  than  that  John  McConoghy  should  begin 
to  raise  his  eyes  to  one  or  other  of  his  friends* 
daughters,  and  he  did  raise  them  with  a  vengeance, 
for  they  settled  on  Fanny,  the  tallest,  the  most  im- 
posing, and  withal  the  oldest  of  the  five  un wedded 
Miss  Gallaghers.  His  audacity  was  reprobated  in 
the  strongest  terms  by  the  fair  object  thereof — 
less  strongly  by  her  prudent  mother,  who  admitted 
him  to  be  "  a  rising  man,  and  a  pushing  man,  too," 
and,  therefore,  "not  to  be  sneezed  at;"  whilst  by 
the  younger  pislers  it  was  not  reprobated  at  all,  for 
Fanny  was  wont  to  put  on  airs  of  superiority  that 
were  less  than  agreeable  to  the  juniors,  and  those 
young  ladies  were  "  tickled  to  death,"  as  they  confi- 


.       <<  V  iH.  -v.  <;.,..    vl 

■  .■/  J* 
* .'  ";.■   -''I 


1  /i 


>;■' 


*,*■'. 


r  •,. 


•.; 


\ 


^       'V^.'t'''} 


''.  ■>^'  4  ■ 


'' « 


>.    .1''  '.,     -■    I*' ni 


1-,    ,.  cTiid';''.!. 

■   J  '1.    C  "1.1 ,.' 


'->    t 


1M 


.'•i 


:   ■■■^ 

'.      «        ■ 


it 


'  ♦  * 

K 

\/. 

.■*■ 

"•i 

■n 

■  K 

\ 

■1 

504 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


flentially  admitted,  at  the  thoughts  of  Fanny  havinj^ 
McConoghy  for  a  beau — or  a  would-be  beau,  which 
was  all  the  same.  Her  slight  appreciation  of  Green 
and  Brown  had  provoked  two  of  them,  at  least,  be- 
yond endurance,  and  they  charitably  determined  to 
*'  let  her  have  tit  for  tat,  and  give  her  enough  of 
McConoghy,  anyhow !" 

Leaving  Tom  Gallagher  and  his  jovial  guest  to 
their  afternoon  pipe  with  what  other  creature-com- 
forts might  be  dispensed  to  them  ;  and  leaving  also 
Misses  EUie  and  Mag  to  amuse  themselves,  accord- 
ing to  promise,  with  Fanny  and  her  unlucky 
Irish  suitor,  we  will  "just  pop  in"  after  the  manner 
of  that  pink  of  politeness,  Paul  Pry,  to  pay  a  too- 
long  deferred  visit  to  the  Hackett  family  next  door. 

The.,three  sisters  and  Michael  had  just  got  home 
from  Vespers.  Now  it  must  not  be  supposed  that 
Michael  had  enjoyed  the  honor  of  escorting  his 
sisters  to  Church.  N"o  such  thing ;  they  had  made 
a  long  detour  through  various  streets  and  squares 
which  they  need  not  have  traversed  had  they 
not  felt  the  urgent  necessity  of  showing  off  three 
new  dresses,  and  as  many  new  bonnets — (I  beg  par- 
don, hats !  the  word  bonnet  is  but  little  known  in 
American  parlance) — together  with  other  accompa- 
nyivig  items  of  a  fashionable  Spring  costume. 
Michael,  on  the  contrary,  had  jogged  along  church 
ward  beside  his  father  "  in  sober  gray  bedight,'* 
till,  having  reached  the  family-pew  just  as  Vespers 
commenced,  they  quietly  took  possession.     Id  this 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASR  ON". 


205 


possession  they  remained  undisturbed  till  the  glo« 
rious  Magnificat  was  pealing  through  the  Church, 
when  the  three  sisters,  like  CcEur  de  Lion  and  his 
knights  at  Fontevrault, 

" came  sweeping  up  the  aisle," 

and  stood  at  the  pew-door  till  their  male  relatives 
stepped  out  to  give  them  admission.  Etiquette 
required  they  should  get  inside,  but  that  measure 
being  ea^tier  conceived  than  executed,  the  father 
and  son  were  forced  to  transfer  themselves  to  the 
floor  of  the  aisle,  very  much  against  their  will,  till 
the  three  belles  had  passed  in,  at  that  fashionably- 
late  period  of  the  Evening  Service  of  the  Church. 

Vespers  and  Benediction  being  over,  Henry 
Hackett  betook  himself,  in  company  with  one  or 
two  old  acquaintances,  to  the  fashionable  locality 
of  Murray  Hill  and  Madisim  Avenue  to  enjoy  at 
the  same  time  the  lovely  Spring  evening  and  a  so- 
cial chat  about  things  past  and  present — chiefly  the 
former,  where  it  lay  smiling  far  behind  and  far  away 
in  that  merry  time  and  that  lovely  land  where  "  a* 
the  ''hree"  had  been  amongst  the  stoutest  and 
lithest  hurlers  on  Tipperary  ground.  Michael  went 
home  to  resume  the  adventures  of  certain  prairie- 
hunters  whose  hair-breadth  escapes  by  flcod  and 
field  had  greater  charms  for  him  than  even  the 
freshness  and  verdure  of  Madison  Park,  much  as  he 
loTed  Daaie  Nature's  garb  of  vernal  beauty. 

He  was  not  long  left  to  the  quiet  enjoyment  of  his 
book,  for  his  siuters  soon  made  their  appearance,  and 


■  i.i 


i^- 


»  5  ,     »      ■   I  :'-»  .  ,  ;  k  f 

-■.■'■i>V,.'j'J 


.fr, 


*   • ./ ..."  f . 


-11 


'•  gi'-iiiiiirr'  '■ay 


;•> 


%■ 


-J  3; 

,    -!  I'll 


•I/,- 


V...  Tj' 


iX:. 


'r;i  < 


■A  >  • 


■1-1 


ji^'o 


1*. 
^1  «,^ 


206 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OB, 


Btationed  themselves,  as  usual;  at  the  windows,  to 
take  cognizance  of  the  passers-by,  what  they  wore, 
and  otl>er  notable  circumstances  therewith  con- 
nected. In  the  prosecution  of  this  profitable  work 
they  chanced  to  espy  the  red-haired  aspirant  to 
Fanny  Gallagher's  hand  making  his  entree  at  No.  66, 
and  being  fully  aware  of  the  gentleman's  identity, 
they  marvelled  much  that  the  Gallaghers  would  have 
anything  to  do  with  such  a  mean  fellow,  and  a 
rough  Irishman  withal. 

"  What  in  the  world  brings  him  there  of  all  peo- 
ple ?"  questioned  Sarah  Eugenia ;  "  I'm  sure  it  was 
well  worth  their  while  to  set  up  such  a  splendid 
turn-out  if  that's  the  kind  of  company  they're  going 
to  keep !" 

"But  I  tell  you  there's  some  real  nice  people  go 
in  there,"  said  Ann  Wilhelmina  with  an  emphatic 
nod ;  "  weren't  those  two  nice  young  gentlemen, 
Mary,  that  we  saw  going  in  just  after  Mass-time  ? " 

Mary  was  equally  impressed  with  the  niceness  of 
the  young  gentlemen. 

"But,  my  goodness!  where  was  /  then,"  said 
Sarah  eagerly,  "  that  I  didn't  see  them  ? — what  did 
they  look  like  ?" 

"  Ha !  ha !  you  missed  that^  Sarah  !"  Ann  replied 
laughing.  "  Well !  I  can  tell  you  they  were  worth 
seeing;  they  were  really  elegant-looking  fellows, 
regular  Americans,  with  moustaches  and  dark 
eyes " 


"•'■Ti.^^Tffl^ltf* 


f'-^i 


TASTE    VERSUS    F^SniOH. 


207 


"Both  dark  eyes?"     Sarah  had  a  weakness  lor 
dark  eyes  and  dark  faces. 

**  Yes,  I  think  they  had — both  of  them — and  my 
how  nice  thek*  hair  looked,  and  their  collars  so 
nicely  turned  down,  and  their  neck-ties  so  elegant — 
oh  dear!  they  were  such  nice  fellows!"  and  Ann 
Wilhelmina  heaved  a  gentle  sigh  as  she  added  in  a 
languishing  tone  :  "  No  fear  that  any  such  w'll  call 
at  68--poor  shabby  little  68 !" 

"  Who  on  earth  could  they  be  ?" 

"  Dear  knows !  but  one  thing  is  certain,  they  muU 
be  distinguished !" 

•'  Yes !"  said  Michael,  "  and  so  they  are — ahem  1" 

"  Why,  Michael !  did  you  see  them  ?" 

Michael  nodded ;  his  sisters  were  round  him  in  a 
moment. 

"  Won't  you  tell  us,  then,  who  they  are  ? — do  now, 
that's  a  good  fellow." 

"  Guess,  and  I  will." 

Various  suppositions  were  advanced  by  the  sis- 
ters, one  wilder  and  more  extravagant  than  another. 

"  Perhaps  they're  officers  in  the  navy  ?" 

"  Guess  again." 

"  In  the  army  ?" 

"  The  chaps  /  saw  weren't  officers  of  any  kind,* 
coolly  said  Michael,  "  so  try  something  else.* 

"Perhaps  they're  lawyers?" 

"  No." 

"  Government-clerks  V 


VV/V 


t'. '. . '  ,.• » "  ■.'.  '•  .> , 

■;■■  i^}  r    ■., 
•-      ■  ■     ■'  '.J 


J-,  •» 


>  I '■'■%:  "■ 

ft-  .  *.  > '  .  K 


i 


y»y 


3       #»i    ■• 


.1- 


,  ■•  '•■  r- 


oz:^f. 


ijif'  .- 


•    '.'■■    ( ■. 
■  'K   J.' 


-,  f 


I   .  ■ 


208 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  No — guess  again." 

"  We'll  guess  no  more — we  give  it  up ! — but  stay 
—perhaps  they're  clerks  in  stores  ?" 

"  You're  getting  nearer  it  now^lo  you  give  h 
up  ?'» 

"  Yes !  yes  I"  •  ' 

Whatever  was  Michael's  answer,  a  burst  of  ex- 
alting merriment  followed,  and  the  sisters  laughed 
till  the  tears  ran  down  their  cheeks. 

*'  Now,  are  you  sure  that  that's  what  they  are, 
Michael?"  demanded  Sarah  as  soon  as  she  could 
speak.  I       - 

"  Are  you  sure  you're  lying  on  that  sofa  ?" 

"  Well !  if  that  a'nt  the  best  thing  I've  heard  for 
a  long  time !  I'm  as  glad  as  if  somebody  put  a 
hundred-dollar  bill  in  my  hand.  Only  think,  girls ! 
how  mortified  they'll  be  when  they  come  to  find  it 
out,  for  you  may  be  sure  they  take  them  for  some- 
thing great  1  But  hush !  here's  pa ! — not  a  word  of 
it  to  him  I" 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


209 


'^^^"  ''■■■■'■■•♦■. 


CHAPTER   XT. 

HARP-STRINGS    AND    HEART-STRINQ8. 

A  FEW  evenings  after  their  first  visit  to  Rheinfeldt 
House,  Major  Montague  and  Captain  Bellew  found 
themselves  again  in  the  pleasant  drawing-room  of 
that  old  mansion,  in  company  with  Mr.  Murray,  his 
son  and  daughter.  As  the  two  gentlemen  walked 
up  the  short  avenue  together  Montagne  said  to  his 
friend :  "  Mind,  Bellew  !  no  slips  of  the  tongue — we 
are  all  strangers  now — perhaps  ever  shall  be !" — 
*'  Ne  craignez  pas,  mon  ami  !*'  responded  Bellew  just 
as  the  door  opened. 

"  No  mon-amee  live  here,"  said  Jan,  and  he  was 
about  to  close  the  df)or  in  their  face.  He  had  caught 
the  captain's  last  words,  and  misunderstood  th«ir 
import. 

"  Madam  Von  Wiegel  does,  though,''  said  Bellew, 
and  laughing  heartily  the  two  friends  entered  the 
hall. 

"  Va-ry  pleasant  gentlemans,  on  mine  word  1" 
said  Jan  complacently  as  he  ushered  them  up  stairs, 
iiaving  by  this  time  recognized  them  as  the  English 
ofllcers  who  had  lunched  with  the  ladies  some  days 
before. 

Well-bred  persons  of  either  sex  are  never  long  in 
making  an  acquaintance,  and  although  Mr.  Murray 


*    V  if!'  •• .  ,  . 


K>-:i''^'-At 


t''p . , 


<'  j: 


■.■■: 


'.«'■*" 


I 


if^S  5 


;^l!•'r.^^ 


V.'' 


.^TLi^^'^ 


WW 


pp 


^*:! 


.?.* 


w  ■ . 


'■■''i'j-j' '■"'  ' 


210 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;   OR, 


did  oontract  his  eyebrows  and  look  rather  coldly  on 
"the  liveried  servants  of  Queen  Victoria"  when 
they  were  introduced  to  him — for  Randal  Mur- 
ray had,  truth  to  tell,  an  out-and-out  dis- 
like of  everything  British — (except  roast  beef  and 
plum  pudding) — still  the  new-comers  were  scarcely 
half  an  hour  in  the  room  when — British  officers 
though  they  were — the  old  gentleman  was  quite  at 
home  with  them;  especially  the  captain,  whose  genial 
disposition  was  so  much  akin  to  his  own  that  it 
thawed  the  ice  immediately.  The  captain  knew 
Dublin  well,  moreover,  had  been  stationed  at  the 
Portobello  Barracks,  and  could  describe  every  re- 
markable scene  around  the  Irish  metropolis  from 
Howth  to  Phoenix  Park,  and  from  Harold's  Cross 
to  Cullen*s  Wood.  He  had  climbed  to  the  top  of 
Nelson's  Pillar,  and,  a  greater  feat  still,  danced  ''  a 
Donnybrook  jig"  with  the  prettiest  girl  at  the  fair. 


high 


"  I  wouldn't  doubt  you,"  said  Randal  in 
appreciation  of  the  captain's  good  humor,  "  but  you 
didn't  venture  to  make  too  free,  did  you  ?"  he  added 
with  sly  meaning. 

"  A  very  little,"  said  the  captain  in  the  same  tone ; 
"I  would  fain  have  saluted  her  in  my  own  way  as  T 
handed  her  back  to  the  bosom  of  an  admiring  crowd, 
I  suppose  of  relations " 

"Well?"  -    ' 

"  Well  I  got  slapped  for  my  pains,  that's  all,  and 
told  to  have  manners,  sir,"  and  the  captain  mim- 
icked the  pretty  brogue  of  the  Donnybrook  belle  to 


TASTE    VER3US    FASHION. 


211 


euch  perfection  that  the  gentkmen  all  laughed,  and 

the  ladies  all  smiled. 

Randal  Murray  rubbed  his  hands  and    laughed 

immoderately.     "  Good  for  you,  captain  !  good  foi 

you  1 — that  was  a  touch,  you  know,  of 

"  ——^—  the  wild  sweet-briftry  fence, 

Which  round  the  flowers  of  Erin  dwells——" 

"  Precisely,-'  said  the  captain,  finishing  the  verse. 

"  That  warns  the  touch,  while  winning  the  sense, 
Nor  charms  us  least  when  it  most  repels." 

In  this  strain  the  two  ran  on  with  the  easiest  and 
most  delightful  familiarity,  much  to  the  amuse- 
ment of  Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  Alice  who  were 
deeply  interested  listeners.  Robert  and  Bertha 
were  discussing  the  merits  of  a  popular  lecturer 
whom  they  had  been  to  hear  on  the  previous  even- 
ing, whilst  Major  Montague  turned  over  the  leaves 
of  a  sketch-book  at  a  table  near  them. 

Bellew's  quick  ear  caught  tlie  subject  under  dis- 
cussion between  Robert  and  Bertha,  and  he  called 
out : 

^^ Apropos  to  your  subject,  Lieutenant  Murray  !  this 
lecturing  business  seems  to  be  an  established  insti- 
tution here." 

"  Decidedly,  captain  !  and  a  famous  institution  I 
take  it  to  be." 

"  As  how  V" 

"  Why,  for  the  diffusion  of  usntul  knowledge,  t« 
be  sure."  .      . 

"  And  the  diffusers  of  such  knowledge  ?" 


•  ►,  •.  vV;,;    ,1 

•  '/'...    ■  .V  >    , 

.    «■'•«»''  ■•■. 

f       '/     '    ■ 

■    •    -       ■    I   . 

■  -y  •■  ■"^^Yv• 
■  '■  '■  .  '*,■  >■  >'f.  •". 


;  ':■  V. 


r 


m 


■■"■•  .   ,  f  •  . 
'*'■■■■  ''^1 


I? . 


>    ■■ 


'"'  ..:•■' :-i-. 


J 

,  ,< 

i^ 


213 


OLD    ANT)    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  Oh  !  that  is — as  it  may  be,"  said  Robert  laugh* 
ing ;  "  we  are  not  particular  as  to  qualifications." 

"  It  appears  not,  indeed.  Major  Montague  and  I 
were  much  amused  to-day  by  an  advertisement  wo 
saw  in  one  of  the  morning  papers,  to  the  effect  that 
Hardman  E.  W.  R.  White,  a  colored  gentleman, 
lately  escaped  from  slavery  in  that  State  whereto 
Susanna's  dusky  Troubadour  was  going  'with  his 
banjo  on  his  knee,'  will  lecture  this  evening  in  the 
Tabernaclo — public  specially  invited  to  attend,  on 
charitable  grounds,  as  Mr.  White  is  lecturing  to 
raise  fundB  to  educate  himself.  Now  on  what  do  you 
suppose  will  this  alphabetically-great  colored  indi- 
vidual hold  forth  for  public  enlightenment  ?" 

"  Oh !  on  abolitionism,  of  course — and  a  capital 
audience  he'll  have,  too — I  can  tell  you  that !  He's 
a  keen  shaver,  depend  on  it,  for  that  advertisement  of 
his  Avill  draw  more  than  the  well-earned  fame  of  the 
first  orator  in  the  land.  We're  a  great  people,  you 
know.  Captain  Bellew  1  and  have  great  ears  of  our 
own "  > 

"  For  which  auricular  appendages  our  British  na 
turalists  give  you  full  credit  as  a  nation,"  said  the 
captain  with  fily  emphasis. 

"Ha-  ha!  Bob — how  do  you  like  that?"  cried 
his  father ;  '''  I  say  there's  a  tap  of  the  lion's  paw 
for  you." 

"  Never  mind,  father !"  said  Robert  with  a  gay 
laugh,  "  the  royal  beast  will  not  always  have  the 
hiugh  on  his  side.    He  may  catch  a  Tartar  some  day 


f-* 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


218 


in  this  direction,  and  that  when  he  least  expects  it. 
If  John  Bull  gives  Brother  Jonathan  credit  for  long 
earx,  he  may  chance  to  find  that  he  has  a  long  heaei 
with  a  reasonable  share  of  brains  in  it." 

The  laugh  that  followed  was  heartily  joined  in  by 
the  good-humored  captain,  who  being  called  upon 
by  Randal  to  admit  that  Bob  had  given  "  a  Rowland 
for  bis  Oliver,*'  freely  admitted  the  fact,  with  the  fur- 
ther possibility  that  Jonathan's  cranium  might  con- 
tain a  certain  quantum  of  the  organic  matter  indi- 
cated by  the  lieutenant. 

"  What  says  your  friend  ?"  asked  the  old  gentle- 
man abruptly. 

"  Friend,  what  sayest  thou  ?"  demanded  the  merry 
captain,  turning  quickly,  not  sorry,  it  would  seem,  to 
send  an  inquiring  glance  in  that  direction. 

"  I  rather  think  Major  Montague  has  not  been 
honoring  ns  with  his  attention,"  said  Robert  drily. 

"  Pardon  me,  sir,"  said  Montague,  with  the  slight- 
est possible  tinge  of  irony  in  his  tone,  "  I  happen 
to  be  of  that  commendable  class  of  persons  whose 
'ears  are  ever  open  to  the  words  of  wisdom'— 
I,  therefore,  heard  you  perfectly — I  am  not  prepared, 
however,  to  give  an  opinion  on  so  grave  a  subject." 
And  without  raising  his  eyes  he  placed  the  drawing- 
book  before  Bertha,  pointing  to  a  faintly-traced 
scene  he  had  been  sketching,  as  if  half  unconsciously, 
on  a  blank  leaf.  - 

The  blood  rushed  to  the  young  lady's  cheek ;  she 
loroked  Up  at  bis  faoe-— it  was  turned  towards  tljc 


i 


'?.''*  Ill 


-      •'I  5 


;t' 


">. 


. « 


'■  •■? 


m?-:M 


vt 


I 


i-  \  5    ■  ■■  ■ 


m^y. 


'■'■'2y'^ 


*    '  -.  \->-  ■  ■  ■•'  '  .  ' 

'■■■:''      -X-^-.     ■  Vv    '     •■ 

■,t*',  '■-'■j:f:  ''.J , 


H  : 


214 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


company  with  a  calm  cold  smile  on  his  haughty  lip 
that  sent  the  blood  back  to  her  heart. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  major's  speech  that 
young  Murray  could  resent,  and  he  was  sorry  for  it, 
fur  he  felt  as  though  he  would  like,  of  all  things,  to 
hear  something  from  Don  Bellianus,  as  he  called 
him,  that  he  could  take  as  an  affront. 

"  Ahem !"  said  the  old  gentleman,  tapping  his 
snuff-box  with  unwonted  energy  and  determination. 
"  Ahem !"  he  repeated  louder,  then  handed  the  rap- 
pee to  Madam  Von  Wtegel  acid  Captain  Bellew,  not 
forgetting  Alice,  who  smiled  sweetly  at  his  absence 
of  mind  and  said :  "  Thanks,  father !  you  know  I 
have  not  yet  learned  that  accomplishment."  She 
was  watching  Bertha's  face  in  a  mirror  opposite,  and 
her  own  pale  cheek  grew  crimson  red  as  she  saw  its 
pallid  hue.  - 

Bellew,  feeling  the  silence  a  little  awkward,  hast- 
ened to  start  a  fresh  topic.  , 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Murray !  that  is  capital  snuff  of 
yours  -almost  equal  to  old  Lundy  Foot's.  You  re- 
member that,  do  you  ?" 

"  Kem'^raber  it,  captain !  why,  bless  my  soul !  of 
course  I  do,  just  as  well  as  I  remember  '  Kinahaii's 
Malt.'  Though,  to  tell  the  truth,  my  palate  knew 
about  as  much  of  the  qualities  of  one  as  my  olfac- 
tory nerve  did  of  the  other,  and  that  wasn't  much, 
I  assure  you !  But  it  does  an  old  man  good,  Cap- 
tain Bellew !  to  hear  the  sound  of  names  that  were 
once  familiar  to  his  ear.    To  hear  you  now  Bpeaking 


mm 


TASTE   VEBgrs    rASHTON. 


215 


\n  your  full  rich  Leinster  voice  of  things  and  places 
that  my  boyhood  knew  so  well,  I  can  almost 

<"  '■  pnrsuade  myself  that  I  am  not  old, 

And  my  locks  are  not  jet  gray.'  " 

"  Well !  well !"  he  added  cheerfully,  "  it's  a  pit> 
youth  can't  last  forever — but,  after  all,  I'm  not  so 
old  but  I  can  enjoy  life  yet — what  think  you.  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  ?" 

"  You  will  never  be  so  old  as  that,  Mr.  Murray," 
said  the  old  lady,  turning  her  eyes  from  Monta- 
gue's face,  hich  she  had  been  scrutinizing  with  a 
sort  of  dreamy  curiosity,  as  though  it  were  associ- 
ated with  some  vague  and  half-forgotten  memories 
— "  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  you  if  you  were;  it  is 
a  dreary  stage  of  existence  when  the  heart  has 
grown  cold,  and  outlived  its  joys  and  pleasures." 

"From  such  a  state,"  said  the  captain,  "angela 
and  ministers  of  grace  defend  us ! — better  die  in 
youth  on  the  tented  field,  and  fill  a  soldier's  grave." 

"With  the  tears  of  one  toe  know  to  bedew  the 
Bod,"  whispered  Bertha,  as  she  passed  him  and  glided 
from  the  room.  She  had  not  even  bent  her  head, 
and  no  one  but  himself  caught  the  word.  Its  effect, 
however,  was  like  magic,  and  the  gay,  laughing  face 
of  Bellew  was  instantly  overcast,  and  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  very  temples.  He  started  and  looked 
up,  but  Bertha  was  gone,  and  his  eyes  involuntarily 
turned  on  his  friend,  who  was  watching  h'nc  v  ith  a 
look  of  arch  intelligence  that  did  not  tend  to  lessen 
his  bmbarrasement.        v  ,  ,  i' . 


'   >, .     •  •  1 


><v  : 


■  » 


.V.   -il 


yL^-.^V 


m 


(^   ,   »>■■    *.      .  '•  *• 


i 


..•    ..-„  ."      .-^     J   „'  ■[ 

-,■"!■.•■••«.♦. 


■■   ,■''     ■■■« 


V    ■ 


M'i 


216 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OB, 


Luckily  Madam  Von  Wiegel  came  to  the  rescue, 
though  all  unconsciously  to  herself,  by  proposing 
cards,  and  invited  the  captain  to  be  hei  partner  lor 
a  rubber  at  whist ;  the  offer  was  gladly  accepted ; 
the  major  took  Alice  for  his  partner,  and  the  game 
commenced. 

"  But  what  is  Mr.  Murray  to  do  ?"  said  Madam 
Von  Wiegel. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  me.  I'll  look  on  till  Bertha 
comes,  then  we'll  have  a  game  of  chess.  By  the 
bye,  Robert,  will  you  go  like  a  good  and  dutiful 
son,  and  a  gallant  squire  of  dames,  as  I  know  you 
are,  and  seek  my  fair  opponent  that  is  to  be  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir,"  said  Robert,  starting  from  the 
lounge,  whereon  he  had  been  reclining  in  moody 
thought.  "  I'll  have  her  here  in  five  minutes  if  she 
be  above  ground.  Were  I  to  bring  her  ia  chains, 
she  shall  come." 

"  Ay  !  such  chains,"  cried  Bellew  laughing,  "  ai 
those  which  James  Fitz-James  *  flung  o'er  the  neck' 
of  Malcolm  Grame  when 

"  '  He  gently  drew  the  glittering  band 
And  laid  the  clasp  in  Ellen's  hand.'  " 

"Pri*thee, silence!"  said  Robert  in  the  same  humor- 
ous strain,  looking  back  from  the  door,  "  thy  wordi 
are  mayhap  of  deeper  meaning  than  befits  the  shal- 
lowneas  of  mine  understanding.  Farewell !  may 
?uck  attend  you  I" 

"  Et  vous,  aussi,  mon  brave !"  called  tho  captain 
after  hiui,  '^  je  vous  souhait<i  le  bonheur !" 


s  \ 


Hi 


^ff^ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION 


211 


"Charity  begins  at  lionie,"  said  the  Major;  "why 
throw  wishes  away  ou  otiiers  ?  The  deal  is  yours, 
madam  1  What  an  enviable  flow  of  spirits  your  son 
has,  Mr.  Murray  I  Is  he  always  so  gay  as  we  see 
him  now  ?" 

"Well    no,    not  always,  major!    not  always — there 
mind    your    ace-trump  1      It's    a    curious    thing,    tha« 
Bob   is   always   iu   better   spirits   and    in   worst    spirits 
here   than   he  is   anywhere   else.     Is   not   that   a   fact. 
Alice  r 

"I  should  be  sorry  to  say  it  is  not,  papa,  when 
you  say  it  is,*'  said  Alice  with  her  gentle  smile, 
"  but " 

"But  what?  come,  out  with  it  I'' 

"  Well  1  I  never  observed  it,  sir  1  but,  of  course, 
your  evidence  is  sufficient  to  establish  a  fact  of  even 
greater  importanc." 

"  Very  ingeniously  put,"  laughed  the  captain,  and  the 
stately  major  condescended  to  smile  as  his  eagle  glance 
rested  for  a  moment  on  the  fair  girl's  face. 

Five  minates,  ten  minutes,  fifteen  minutes  passed 
oefore  Bertha  entered  the  room,  and  Robert  was 
not  with  her.  She  was  paler  even  than  usual,  and 
traces  of  tean;  were  on  her  cheeks.  The  first  glance 
she  met  was  that  of  Montague,  and  her  eye  fell 
under  its  keen  scrutiriv,  and  a  faint  blush  suffused 
her  cheek. 

"I  say.  Bertha  I  where  did  you  leave  Bob?"  cried 
Mr.  Murray  with  a  meaning  glance  at  Madam  Von 
Wiegel.    "He  weit  to  seek  you." 


%\. 


h 


\ 


..,■■■*'■  4 


t>*^;^ 


* . 


■& 


■mi 


'■4A 


0  ^      ■*' 


At' . 


218 


OLD   AND   NEW  :    OR. 


vS^I 


4'' 


••*.„ 


"  I  know  he  was  kind  enough  to  do  so,  sir,"  said 
Bertha  taking  her  seat  near  Alice,  "  but  I  left  hiui  in 
the  library  answering  a  note  he  has  just  received." 

"  A  note  I  what  note  ?"  asked  the  easily-alarmed 
fatlier. 

"  He  will  tell  you  that  himself,  sir  I  I  have  no  right 
to  speak  of  its  contents." 

"  Humph  I"  said  Mr.  Murray  lapsing  into  thought- 
fulne^B,  "  Humph  I — ah  ! — well  ! — no  matter" — com- 
pressing his  lips  very  tightly  as  he  dealt  the  cards, 
"  I  dare  say  it  is  of  no  consequence.  An  honor,  by 
ray  word  I  Bertha,  my  dear  I  is  your  harp  unstrung, 
or  has  music  lost  its  charms,  or  how  is  it  ?  Let  me 
see — why  I  protest  I  have  not  heard  you  play — or 
sing — since  we  got  back." 

"  I'm  afraid,  Mr.  Murray  !  '  the  music's  gone  up  to 
the  moon,'"  said  Bertha  with  a  faint  smile,  "or  some- 
where else  beyond  the  control  of  my  fingers." 

"  Pooh  I  pooh  I  '  call  a  spirit  from  the  vasty  deep  !' 
to  bring  it  back  again." 

"Do  play  something  I"  whispered  Alice,  "I  long  to 
hear  your  harp  again." 

"Are  you  fond  of  music,  Captain  "Bellew?"  said 
Bertha  rising. 

"  Oh  very  1  and  the  harp  is  my  favorite  instrument. 
I  am  quite  of  the  opinion  of  Moore  that,  above  all 
others,  it  breathes  '  the  soul  of  music' " 

"  And  the  soul  of  music  is  the  breath  of  life,"  added 
Madam  Von  Wiegel." 

"And  the  key  of  memory,"  said  Miyor  Montague 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


219 


Bpeaking  for  the  first  time.  Bertha  looked  at  him, 
but  his  eyes  wtre  fixed  on  the  cards  in  his  hand, 
and  his  face  was  as  a  sealed  book,  cold  and  calm  as 
the  ApoUo-Belvidere's. 

Just  then  Robert  Murray  entered  the  room,  and 
in  answer  to  his  father's  eager  inquiry  said  he  had 
received  a  note  from  one  of  his  broiher  ofticers  ap- 
prising him  that  they  were  under  orders  to  join 
their  regiment  within  the  week. 

'*  Bad  news,  Bob,  bad  news !"  said  the  old  gentle- 
man ;  Alice  changed  color  and  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Bellew  smiling, 
"  that  your  country's  sword  is  where  Cowper  de- 
scribes Admiral  Kempenfeldt's  when  he  went  down 
in  the  Roijal  George — 

"  '  His  sword  wras  in  the  sheath, 
His  fingers  held  the  pen, 
When  Kempeiifeldt  went  down 
With  twice  four  hundred  men.' 

It  is  only  to  drill  your  son  is  going,  not  to  fight^^ 

"  Well !  there  is  comfort  in  that,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  laughing,  but  what  more  he  intended  to 
say  was  cut  short  by  the  sound  of  Bertha's  harp,  as 
she  swept  the  strings  in  a  graceful  prelude. 

"What  shall  I  play,  mother?"  she  asked,  turning 
half  round,  but  without  waiting  for  an  answer  she 
commenced  "  Lochaber." 

The  card-table  was  instantly  deserted,  and  Mr. 
Murray  ensconced  himself  in  an  arm-chair  near  the 
fire,  rubbing  his  hands  as  usual  when  well  pleased, 


■■'  .v^P 


,vi.^r.'. 


•v 


^-ft^S^^ft: 


12 1!  'V'*'f. 


.  :  r 


220 


■rm 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


and  crying  "  That's  for  yon,  Robert  I  that's  for  you, 
my  lad  !*' 

The  melting  tenderness  of  the  air  had  softened 
every  heart,  and  young  Murray,  lying  on  a  distant 
Bofa,  covered  his  face  with  one  hand  to  hide  the 
trickling  tears,  of  which  he  was  ashamed. 

"Why  not  play  'The  Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me?'" 
said  a  voice  near  Bertha,  it  was  that  of  Montague, 
and  he  spoke  with  an  emphasis  half  ironical,  halt' 
contemptuous. 

Without  answering,  Bertha  glided  at  once  into 
"  I'd  Mourn  the  Hopes  that  Leave  Me,"  and  she 
saw  a  smile  curling  the  haughty  lip  of  her  nearest 
auditor,  where  he  had  thrown  himself  on  the  divan 
near  her  with  his  back  to  the  company.  Having 
played  some  light  and  beautiful  variations,  Bertha 
paused. 

"  The  third  is  the  charm,"  said  Montague  care- 
lessly ;  there  was  a  tremor  in  his  voice,  however, 
that  only  one  ear  caught — and  it  set  one  heart 
a-beating. 

But  Bertha,  without  appearing  to  notice  the  words, 
turned  to  th(  others,  and  saying  "  I  will  sing  you 
an  old— a  very  old  song,"  played  a  plaintive  sym- 
phony, and  then  sang  in  a  voice  of  thrilling  sweetness. 

"  Mary,  I  believed  thee  true, 

And  I  was  bless'd  in  thus  believing, 
But  now  I  mourn  that  e'er  I  knew 
A  girl  so  fair  and  so  deceiving." 

Brcakine  off  suddenly,  hotvever,  she  changed  the 


H 


>  A.V  '  ■ 


TASTE   msw  j^sHION,  ,,, 

sccompaniment,  and  aftpr  o 

on  in  a  different  n>eas„r;:  "  """"^''^  thought  «en, 

'       '""'Z''T,"'"""'''°""^'>T  years 
But  Oh  U„„,e  years  were  ,™"bt 

"The     ,'""""""'' '""^^bougt"' 

Mo.'tague,  whose'v^:;!;,.  .^f™g  '"  '"""^   « 
ear  in^atbrillia„„h,.,p^;  "«''«■ 'heless,  ^'''hed  her 

-•.ng  to  a.::;""  ''""  "'•^  *''<"•'•»  -een  that  you 

.^--^"^at C.::^'  Sh-  I-'n^  ^'"  «^e  -io. 

'"?•      "  You   want    "  R^ie   b1  ""'  ^"^  ^'""^  *^«'- 
M""ay  will  (i^,,,      ;'"  «   B,uann,a'_,.ell(    Mis, 

"»•>  i"  her  tastes,  Tass!  1         7''^  "  <»""<'  E„g. 

'^on't  you  oblige  Maior  Silf  °"  •^''<'«'  "X  dear" 
the  Queen,'  or  -.he  BrtSh  «!'""%"""  '  '^"'^  ^ave 
%od  Susan  f  "  ^  Grenadiers,'  or  '  Black- 

What  was  there  in  th;„    jj  . 
-de  Montague  s-:    is j:-^/-f'.^n,e.  that 
;^  "as   the  feeling  soon  p^  "f '' '     ^J-^tever 

S  ^"•■""-  -^  -".  ^-e  tsf^eS^rX:- 

^;l'he1Stt?Sl.*;J-;^^•■™.'-usie, 
Wiegel,  r  ,„„3t  p,ol'     '.'  '''"  '•'''"'y.  Miss  V„„ 

""-de  on  my  beha  t'   1  L"^!:^.'  f"''  <"">'-  of  airs 

•0  antiquated  as  you  ^ouTdTa    '""^ "  ""'  <"■"• 

^       """'''  Mve  your  friend  bo 


,.■■."     .-"Vli'..,-     , 


■':'■  I' 


r    ,    .^  ,:; 


'  (• 


5»C'J'^^^ 


■•#  ■« 


..  '-31 


i 


A- 


"41 


Jn 


fi; 


>ih^. 


% 


/'#'**■ 


c'f 


.'    '■      ■■        '   I'.- 


)'■■•■', 
■'   5' 


et. 


i'S-l 


'j^'t^M; 


"  1    ■■ 

t     ■ '    ■  . . 

Vi    .-4 

122 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;   OR, 


lieve.  Permit  me  to  lead  you  to  the  harp,  Misi 
Murray !" 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  oblige  yon,  Major  Monta 
gue,"  said  Alice,  "  but  I  do  not  play  the  harp.'' 

"You  play  the  guitar,  though,"  said  Bertha, 
anxious  that  her  gentle  friend  should  display  some 
of  her  many  accomplishments,  "  and  the  piano  like 
an  artist !  Let  us  have  my  old  favorite,  the  Druid's 
choruB  in  Norma,  and  Robert  and  I  wiil  sing  it  with 
you  ?  Come,  Robert !  it  may  be  long  before  wo 
three  blend  our  voices  again!" 

There  was  sadness  in  her  tone,  and  young  Mur- 
ray's fhce  was  flushed  with  joy  as  he  took  his  place 
beside  her  at  the  piano,  where  Alice  was  already 
seated.  The  old  gentleman  nodded  at  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  with  the  brightest  of  smiles,  and  then  taking 
a  seat  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  he  paid  in  a  whisper 
loud  enough  to  reach  the  ears  of  the  two  strangers  ■ 

"  Oh  !  sure  a  pair  was  never  seen 

So  justly  form'd  to  meet,  by  nature- 
The  youth  excelling  so  in  mien, 
The  maid  in  every  graceful  feature  !" 

For  some  reason  Bellew  looked  anxiously  at  his 
friend,  but  the  major  was,  or  seemed  to  be,  engrossed 
with  the  picture  on  the  wall  opposite.  It  was  that 
of  Madam  Von  Wiegel's  only  remaining  brother, 
the  uncle  Gerald  of  whom  Bertha  so  often  spoke. 
There  was  a  softened  expression  in  his  eyes  and  on 
his  whole  face  that  even  his  friend  had  seldom  seen 
there.    Just  at  thiM  moment  Bertha  turned,  and  she 


^m 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


223 


■■•'*: 


too,  caught  the  expression  on  Montague's  face,  and 
following  the  direction  of  his  earnest  gaze,  her  own 
heart  swelled,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 
Bellew  saw  this  though  his  friend  did  not,  or  at 
least  appeared  as  though  he  did  not. 

"  Montague  !"  said  he  laying  his  hand  lightly  on 
his  arm. 

The  kind,  soothing  voice  broke  the  spell,  and  the 
major  starting,  looked  around  with  surprise  as 
though  half  forgetting  where  he  was. 

"  You  are  not  in  Castle  Mahon,  my  friend  !"  said 
Bellew  in  a  tone  of  commiseration ;  "  we  are  far 
enough  away  from  the  old  towers  to-night,  and 
uncle  Gerald  is  not  here  to  throw  oil  on  the  troubled 
waters." 

The  chorus  commenced,  and  whatever  might  have 
been  the  secret  feelings  of  the  two  officers,  their 
musical  taste  was  too  highly  cultivated  not  to  lose 
all  other  sensations  for  the  moment  in  the  exquisite 
pleasure  of  hearing ;  the  beautiful  conception  of  Bel- 
lini's genius  was  so  chastely  and  effectively  rendered 
that 

"  Breathless  silence  chain'd  the  lips  and  hush'd  the  hearts 
of  all." 

Just  as  the  last  cadence  died  away,  Jan  threw 
open  the  door  and  announced  supper.  Mr.  Murray 
offered  his  arm  instanter  to  Madam  Von  Wiejrel ; 
Captain  Bellew  made  his  bow  to  Alice,  and  Robert 
was  not  slow  in  drawing  Bertha's  arm  within  his. 

"  By  Jove,  Montague,  that  is  a  bad  omen  !"  said 


H . 


I' 

', » 


v<-. 


;<^'»rv*:j^ 


'■  '.  "''I-  •  1 


t 
it 


'■'■■I 


is  . 

.         '  ■ 

:  ,. 

r 

\      ■     : 
■y 

19  ,«l  ''\!ff.  '  ' 


;i>'  .:■ 


iS24 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


1 . 


Bellew  laugliing ;  "  consigned  to  single  blessedness 
you  are  unmistakeably !" 

"  N'importe,  raon  cher  Gerald !  mon  jour  viendra' 
march  on  !  I  follow  !'* 

Conversation  flowed  freely  during  supper,  ana 
the  peculiarities  of  the  different  characters  gave 
piquant  zest  to  the  entertainment;  though  all  of 
refined  tastes  and  polished  manners,  easy,  affable 
and  agreeable,  there  were  many  shades  of  difference 
between  the  deep,  calm  earnestness  inherited  by 
Bertha  from  her  German  ancestors,  the  lofty  intel- 
lectual superiority  expressed  in  every  word  and 
every  look  of  Montague's,  and  the  half  boyish,  half- 
soldierly,  but  most  agreeable  play  of  Robert's 
sprightly  humor.  Captain  Bellew  was  a  host  in 
himself;  with  his  bright  genial  humor,  ample  store 
of  anecdotes,  and  imperturbable  good  temper,  he 
was  one  of  the  best  of  table-companions,  and  con- 
tributed more  than  a  share  to  the  evening's  enjoy- 
ment. Montague,  though  he  spoke  comparatively 
little,  unbent  just  so  far  as  to  make  himself  agreea- 
ble, and  give  some  occasional  glimpses  of  the  trea- 
sures with  which  his  mind  was  stored.  He  was 
evidently  a  man  who  had  seen  much,  read  much  and 
thought  more.  If  feelings  or  passions  he  had  they 
were  so  perfectly  under  control  that  it  was  hard 
to  say  whether  the  courtly  repose  of  his  manner 
was  real  or  artificial.  At  times,  however,  he  would 
condescend,  as  it  were,  to  open  the  dark  lanthorn 
in  which  he  chose  to  conceal  the  brightness  of  bis 


&^f^:i 


>.. 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


2911 


Intelligence,  and  a  warm  glow  fell  for  the  moment 
on  each  one  present. 

Few  words  had  passed  directly  between  Mon 
tague  and  Bertha,  though  they  sat  directly  opposite 
each  other.  When  supper  was  almost  over,  how- 
ever, the  major  suddenly  said :  "  The  pleasure  of 
wine  with  you,  Miss  Von  Wiegel."  The  lady  as- 
sented, and  when  they  came  to  bow  to  each  other, 
he  looked  her  steadily  in  the  face  a  moment,  and 
then  said  in  a  tone  half  jest,  half  earnest : 

"To  the  ghosts  of  buried  years — the  Druid 
shapes  of  memory's  grove !" 

Bertha  raised  the  glass  to  her  lips,  but  her  hand 
trembled  so  that  she  was  forced  to  set  it  down,  its 
contents  still  untasted.  Seeing,  however,  that  her 
emotion  was  attracting  attention,  she  rallied  her 
composure  by  one  of  those  efforts  which  few  can 
make  successftilly,  and  taking  up  the  glass,  said 
with  a  smile  that  was  wan  as  a  wintry  sunbeam, 
"  I  pledge  you.  Major  Montague,  with  the  further 
jiudition  :  'What  lies  beneath  the  waters  of  Ivethe.' " 

"And  is  seen,  nevertheless,'*  he  returned  with  a 
smile  of  strange  meaning,  "  like  those  towers  of 
Lough  Neagh  by  poets  sung, 

"  '  When  the  clear  cold  eve's  doclining,' 

or  the  lady-moon  shedding  memory's  own  light  on 
the  lone  midnight  hour  and  earth's  hushed  repose.'* 
The  listeners  were  all  surprised,  none  more  so 
than  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  who  could  by  no  means 


■^  -.■•*i 


::  ;?i 


i    - 


4  . 


:r>KiiS>|^' 


a^' .: 


226 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


;•>  ■  >     ' 


«r.; 


..-5  ■ 


understand  the  singular  turn  which  her  daughter 
and  the  major  had  given  to  the  conversation. 

The  old  gentleman  cleared  his  throat  several  times 
as  though  he  were  meditating  a  vocal  attempt; 
Alice  looked  grave ;  Bellew  raised  his  glass,  much 
interested,  it  would  seem,  in  watching  the  sparlling 
liquid  within  as  it  glanced  in  the  yellow  gas-light. 
Robert  sat  uneasily  in  his  chair,  biting  his  lips  and 
playing  with  the  spoon  in  the  glass  before  him,  the 
emotions  of  his  mind  passing  in  quick  succession 
over  his  speaking  face. 

Trifling  as  the  incident  was,  it  seemed  to  have 
thrown  a  damp  on  the  spirits  of  each,  and  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  very  soon  after  arose,  to  the  evident  re- 
lief of  the  company,  who  were  all,  for  different  rea- 
sons, glad  to  return  to  the  drawing-room. 

"  Cowled  Druids,  indeed ! — ghosts  of  buried 
years,  forsooth !"  grumbled  Robert  in  Bertha's 
hearinor  as  they  walked  up  stairs  together ;  "  I  be- 
lieve he's  one  of  them  himself  revisiting  the  glimpses 
of  the  moon  !* — deuce  take  him  for  an  autocrat, 
what  business  has  he  here  ?" 

An  hour  later,  and  Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  her 
daughter,  their  night  prayers  over,  were  seated  to- 
gether by  the  fire  in  the  old  lady's  dressing  room ; 
Bertha's  eyes  were  fixed  abstractedly  on  the  fan- 
tastic shapes  of  the  blazing  coals  in  the  grate,  her 
mother's  on  her  face,  with  a  troubled  and  anxious 
look.         •  ,::■'■.■        '  •  '     • 

"  Bertha,"  said  she  at  last,  "  who  it  this  Major 


f. 


1 
I  ' 

« 

1  1. 


liv'.i 


TASTK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


221 


Montague  ?  There  is  something  in  his  features 
that  recall  old  times  to  me,  though  I  know  not  that 
I  ever  saw  Hm  before — but,  Bertha!  my  child! 
ijou  did — and  I  feel  it  my  duty  to  ask  who  and  what 
lie  is  ?" 

The  young  lady  started,  and  turned  pale,  then 
blushed  deeply,  then  turned  and  looked  into  her 
mother's  eyes,  and,  as  if  moved  by  the  unut- 
terable love  she  saw  there,  she  threw  her  arms 
around  her  neck,  and  laying  her  heard  on  her 
shoulder,  murmured :  "  Yes,  mother,  dearest  and 
best  of  mothers  1  you  shall  know  all  that  I  know  of 
Edgar  Montague,  whose  face  may  well  be  familiar  to 
you.  He  is  the  second  son  of  one  you  cannot  but 
remember — Lord  Dunmore.^^ 

"  Ha !  that  accounts  for  It,"  said  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  in  a  tremulous  voice. 

"  Well,  my  child  I  it  is  wearing  late — to-morrow 
you  shall  tell  me  all  1" 


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228 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    IR, 


CHAPTER  XII. 


4*1  '  i       ' 


1 

•        « 

.1  :• '  'H^  . 


■,l  ■  '  '' 
IMS 


1 

§^ 

m 

Ui 

' 

l-K 

a: 

"  -  \ 

■  ■*, 

,-,A 

'^f 

;  v«. 

/ 

■'* 

1 » 

«i '  • 

i   '. 

'. 

'Si 

i 

■  >■■/ 

it' . 

,- 

1 

si 

|t 

kM& 

ADVKUSITY    IS    NOT    ALWAYS    MISFORTUNE. 

Messrs.  Green  and  Brown  were  not  slow  to  im- 
prove the  opportunity  offered  them  by  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher's extra  civility,  and  the  impression  they  had 
evidently  ifiade  on  Misses  Ellie  and  Mag.  Their 
visits  became  longer  and  more  familiar  from  week 
to  week,  for  it  was  only  once  a  week  they  came,  and 
always  together.  They  had  taken  the  girls — all  but 
Fanny,  who  declined  going — to  Niblo's  Gardens, 
and  Laura  Keene's,  and  once  to  the  Opera,  where 
the  young  ladies  appeared  in  full  dress  in  one  of  the 
front  boxes — with  the  two  exquisitely-dressed  beaux 
in  obsequious  attendance.  Mrs.  Gallagher  had  been, 
morever,  persuaded  (easily  enough  to  say  the  truth) 
to  give  a  grand  party  in  honor  of  Mr.  Green  and 
Mr.  Brown — Fanny's  protest  against  it  notwith- 
standing— but,  as  ill  luck  would  have  it,  Tom  insisted 
on  having  his  friend,  McConoghy,  at  the  party, 
and,  worse  still,  Atty  Garr&il !  As  for  Atty  his 
presence  was  not  very  notlrt able,  for  the  poor  fellow 
being  overpowered  by  the  show  and  glitter  of  the 
gay  company,  and  the  sw^aggering  assurance  which 
passed  current  amongst  them  for  ease,  kept  himself 
mod«tly  in  a  corner,  or  behind  a  door  all  the  even- 
ing, except  when  Tom,  to  his  great  relief,  beckoned 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASniOK. 


229 


neven* 


him  out  once  in  a  while  to  refresh  his  inner  man 
with  himself  and  McConoghy  and  one  or  two  others, 
amongst  whom  was  Mr.  William  II.  Fogarty,  whoso 
genial  qualities  were  still  in  him  for  the  drawing 
out,  keen  and  dry  as  business  had  made  him.  As 
for  "  the  favored  guests"  of  the  "  lighted  hall,"  (».  e. 
parlor,)  the  colored  lamps  who  gave  Green  and 
Brown  light  to  that  evening's  festivity,  Tom  would 
have  nothing  to  do  with  them,  more  than  bare 
civility;  they  were  a  pair  of  chaps,  as  he  told 
McConoghy  and  Atty  in  confidence,  "  that  he  didn't 
care  much  about,  and  let  them  be  who  or  what  they 
might — and  not  a  know  himself  knew  who  they 
were — they  were  nothing  else  but  a  pair  of  skip- 
jacks." "  If  I  had  my  way,"  Tom  added,  "  I'd  Boon 
show  them  the  door,  but  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  the  girls 
thinks  there's  nobody  like  them,  and  if  I  as  much  as 
looked  crooked  at  them  I'd  have  neither  peace  nor 
quietness  for  many*s  the  long  day.  I  never  seen 
anything  like  the  notions  these  women  get  into  their 
heads  now-adays.  Sometimes  I  think  there's  none 
as  foolish  as  my  own,  but  then  again  when  I  look 
round  me  and  see  the  way  other  people's  wives  and 
daughters  go  on  I  think  I'm  no  w^orse  off  than  rny 
aeighbors  aXter  all.  Now  there's  one  thing  that 
vexes  me  maybe  more  than  anything  else- -the 
notion  they  have  that  everything  Irish  is  low 
and  vulgar,  as  they  say  themselves,  and  nothing's 
right,  or  nobody's  worth  knowing  that  isn't  rale 
American,  or  doesn't  look  American-like.     Go  nc 


'ii 

1 

^ 

•'?' 


W 


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-    ••     ;■' 


•^': 


I  , 


■:  '/  ■'. 


i 

r*,   1 

-'.^h 

»^-      f' 

;.,  -. 

1 

• 

^: 


* 

230 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


farther  than  Green  and  Brown  yonder — now  thoy 
don't  know  a  thing  about  them — not  a  thing,  but 
just  because  they  don't  look  Irish,  and  dress  in 
style,  and  put  on  plenty  of  airs,  they're  the  darlings 
all  out,  and  Ellen  and  the  girls  won't  hear  a  word 
against  them — not  a  word.  So  that's  the  way  it  ia 
here !" 

"  And  many  other  places  besides  here,"  said  Mr 
Fogarty,  who  was  smoking  a  cigar,  sending  out  a 
long  puff  between  his  teeth,  and  looking  thought- 
fully after  the  wreath  of  smoke  as  though  wonder- 
ing what  it  was  going  to  do  with  itself  now  that  it 
was  fairly  on  the  world ;  "  you're  not  alone,  Mr. 
Gallagher!  J  can  tell  you  that! — it's  the  fashion 
here  in  New  York,  you  see,  for  ladies  to  turn  up 
their  noses  at  everything  Irish,  and  the  consequence 
is  that  the  gents  are  not  Irish — whether  they  came 
from  Ireland,  or  had  Irish  parents,  or  however  it 
may  be,  there  a'nt  one  of  them  will  own'  to  b»/ 
Irish  himself  Sometimes,  it  is  true,  their  speech 
betrays  them,  and  it's  laughable  enough  to  hear 
them  doing  the  Yankee  with  a  good  strong  dash  of 
the  Munster  or  Connaught  brogue  on  their  tongue. 
It  alw^ays  puts  mc  in  mind  of  a  caricature  I  saw  in 
Punch  onye — a  starched-up  English  lady  who  had 
advertised  in  the  Times  for  a  cook,  with  the  usua, 
intimation  '  No  Irish  need  apply,'  was  represented 
in  colloquy  with  a  fat  woman  whf>se  face,  of  the 
broadest  and  coarsest,  was  unmistakeably  Irish  of 
the  lowest  type — the  lady  questions  her  as  to  her 


.,«(; 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


*23) 


country,  adding  her  fear  that  she  is  Irish,  whereupon 
the  other  looks  at  her  sideways,  throwing  her  head 
bfick,  and  exclaims  with  an  air  of  injured  innocence, 
Augh  1  a'nt  I  Cornv/all,  sure  ?'  I  never  hear  man 
or  woman  that  I  know  to  be  Irish,  putting  on 
ibreign  airs  or  speaking  in  a  way  that  isn't  natural 
to  them  but  I  think  of  'a'ut  I  Cornwall,  sure?* 
and  honest  Susy." 

Tom  laughed  so  heartily  at  Mr.  Fogarty's  joke 
that  the  cloud  of  discontent  vanished  from  his  brow, 
and  all  the  world,  not  excepting  Green  and  Brown, 
were  taken  again  into  his  good  graces,  where  they 
happily  remained  the  rest  of  the  evening.  Not  so 
McConoghy,  who  felt  so  annoyed  at  Miss  Gallagher's 
contemptuous  treatment  of  himself  painfully  con- 
trasted as  it  was  by  the  smiles  lavished  on  the  two 
dandified  young  gentlemen  by  their  respective  dul- 
cineas,  that  his  good  nature  was  sorely  tried,  and  he 
felt  disposed  more  than  once  during  that  evening  to 
cut  the  connection  and  betake  himself  and  his  pros- 
peci;S  elsewhere.  For  prospects  Mr.  McConoghy 
had,  and  good  prospects,  too,  as  he  said  to  himself 
vith  unwonted  bitterne-s.  He  had  given  such  satis- 
faction to  his  employers  whilst  travelling  for  orders, 
that  they  were  about  to  give  him  a  share  ir  he 
business,  and  that  whare  once  obtained,  John 
McConoghy  was  on  the  high  road  to  prosperity. 
He  didn't  see,  therefore,  why  Miss  Fanny  should 
treat  him  as  she  did,  and  he  all  but  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  would   forthwith  cast  his  line  in 


'■■  ^ 


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OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


.  ;    •«.  1      ■•   r 


>',u'^ 


f,^ 


■tiiy 


another  direction,  and  try  some  of  the  other  "good 
fish"  that,  according  to  the  ancient  proverb,  are  al- 
ways "  in  the  sea,"  as  good  "as  ever  wer^  cuugh.." 

It  so  happened  that  with  his  mind  still  running  on 
this  angling  speculation,  Mr.  McConoghy  strolled 
next  evening  into  Henry  Hackett's  shop,  where  ho 
sometimes  went  to  have  a  chat  with  Henry  and  his 
son.  Being  invited  up  stairs  on  this  occasion  after 
the  shop  was  closed,  he  went  nothing  loth,  perhaps 
expecting  to  see  the  three  fair  sisters  usually  to  be 
found  there;  if  so,  he  was  disappointed,  for  the  Miss 
Hacketts,  finding  out  by  some  chance  that  he  was  in 
the  store,  and  fearing  that  he  miglit  possibly  be 
"  asked  up,*'  had  gone  in  to  spend  the  evening  with 
Julia  Fogarty,  having  no  desire  for  the  company  of 
an  "ugly  Irishman  with  such  an  odious  name  as 
McConoghy." 

Whether  John  might  have  been,  or  was  at  all 
disturbed  by  the  absence  of  the  young  ladies,  it  is 
certain  that  the  eveni^^g  passed  pleasantly,  and  long 
before  the  visitor  took  his  leave  a  friendly  con- 
fidence was  established  between  himself  and  the 
Hacketts,  father  and  son.  John  McConoghy  had, 
in  some  measure,  opened  his  heart,  and  if  he  did  not 
exactly  tell  of  his  ambitious  views  or  the  "bright 
particular  star"  on  which  his  hopes  were  placed,  he 
gave  sufficient  indications  of  the  state  of  his  mind 
(or  rather  affections)  to  enable  his  companions,  who 
were  neither  of  them  dull  incomprehension,  to  give 
a  pretty  gdod  guess  as  to  "  how  the  land  lay."     The 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


233 


\     *        t. 

W^- 

'■.  ;*' *v' 

■  >••  " 

'■\  ' 

A. 

two  successful  wooers  of  Mag  and  EUie,  and  prime 
flivorites  of  Mrs.  Gallagher,  were  not  forgotten,  as 
may  well  be  supposed,  and  McConoghy  made  it 
Biifliciently  plain  that,  as  far  as  his  kindly  nature 
permitted  him  to  hate  any  one,  he  cordially  hated 
them,  or  rather  their  absorption  of  tho  good  graces 
of  his  friend  Tom*s  "  womankind." 

"  And  to  crown  all,"  concluded  John,  "  they 
brought  another  chap  with  them  to  the  party,  last 
night — one  of  the  same  kidney,  I'll  be  bound,  what- 
ever that  is,  and  between  ourselves,  Mr.  Hackett !  I 
have  no  great  opinion  of  any  of  them.  But  of 
course  when  I  know  nothing  at  all  about  thero,  I 
can't  say  a  word  for  fear  I'd  say  what  wasn't  the 
truth.  This  new  arrival  was  introduced  as  Mr. 
Sweetman,  and  Miss  Fanny  took  to  him  like  bird- 
lime, for  no  reason  that  I  could  see  only  the  name 
he  has.  It  is  not  much  of  a  name,  to  my  thinking, 
but  any  name  will  do  for  the  young  ladies  here  ex- 
cept an  Irish  name — a  Mac  or  an  O,"  he  added  with 
some  bitterness. 

"  jL'  Oil  never  said  a  truer  word  than  that,  Mr. 
>?  'Cor  <  ghy,"  said  Henry  Hackett,  "I  see  itr  every 
day  even  jp  these  girls  of  mine,  and  though  it 
grieves  n^y  heait  to  see  it,  I  can't  help  it.  Every* 
tiling  Irish  is  low  ai>d  mean,  everything  that  isn't 
Irish  is  genteel  and  elegant." 

"Mr.  McConoghy,"  said  Michael,  suddenly  look- 
ing up  from  an  apple  he  was  paring,  "/  know  some- 


^•: 


■''M 


■  1  -»■..  .'■  i-- 


■:-'i',v  .>« 


J^l 


.1    V 


2a4 


1,,' 


\ 

■    -i 

3  ■;, 

.  -"»^ 

m 

.>«'<  .■  ',' 

OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


thing  that  ytm  don't  know,  and  I'm  sure  you'd  give 
a  good  many  dollars  to  know  it." 

"  Why,  w\iat  can  it  be,  Michael  ?"  asked  the  othei 
in  surprise,  while  his  father  opened  his  eyes  wide 
and  looked  at  him. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  now,  Mr.  McConoghy,"  said  the 
precociously-grave  Michael,  "  but  I  want  you  to  do 
one  thing  for  me  and  then  I'll  tell  you." 

"  And  what  is  the  thing,  Michael  ?" 

"  Will  you  ^  k*'  *he  Gallaghers — I  mean  the  ladies 
—  to  Taylor's  ii  \  some  evening — the  sooner  the 
better?  You  know  you  can  ask  them  out  for  a 
walk,  and  take  them  down  Broadway,  and  then 
when  you  come  to  Taylor's  ask  them  to  have  a 
plate  of  oysters  or  something." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  could  do  that  easy  enough,"  said 
John,  laughing  heartily  at  what  he  called  Mike's 
simplicity,  "I  tyou  see,  Mike,  it's  just  like  putting 
the  grain  of  salt  on  the  bird's  tail  to  catch  it. 
Them  ladies  wouldn't  be  seen  in  the  street  with 
poor  John  McConoghy  for  a  mint  of  money,  and 
I'm  sure  they'd  almost  bite  the  nose  off*  me, — or  at 
any  rate  laugh  in  my  face,  if  I  made  so  free  as  to 
ask  them  out  for  a  walk.  You  don't  know  them, 
Michael,  as  well  as  I  do  I"  and  the  poor  fellow 
sighed  deeply. 

"  Well !  do  it  as  you  will,  you  must  do  it,'*  said 
Mike  peremptorily. 

"  But  even  if  I  could  do  it,  what  good  would  it  do 
mef» 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


23^ 


"  That's  the  secret,"  said  Michael,  "  and  I  told 
you  before  you  shouldn't  hear  it  till  you'd  do  my 
bidding.     Will  you,  or  will  you  not?" 

"  I'd  be  glad  to  do  it,  Mike,  if  I  only  knew  how 
But  upon  my  word,  I  haven't  the  least  idea  of  how 
to  go  about  it.  Unless  Tom  stood  my  friend,"  ho 
added  musingly. 

"  He  loill  stand  your  fViend,*'  said  Mike,  "  if  you 
only  tell  him  that  a  friend  of  yours  and  of  his  wanta 
the  thing  done — and  tell  him,  besides,  that  if  he'll 
get  the  ladies  to  go — even  if  you're  not  with  them, 
though  /'d  sooner  you  were — he'll  not  be  unthank- 
ful to  himself  for  doing  it.  But  don't  bring  in  my 
name,  Mr.  McConoghy  1  for  the  ladies  would  never 
forgive  me  if  they  knew  I'd  be  playing  tricks  on 
them,  and  that's  just  what  I'm  doing  now,  or  mean 
to  do,  please  goodness." 

"  Well  !'*  said  McConoghy  rising  to  go,  "  I'll  do 
as  you  tell  me,  anyhow,  Michael,  and  if  we  fail  why 
you  can't  blame  me " 

"  You'll  not  fail,  I  know  you  won't,  and  after  the 
visit  to  Taylor's  whether  you^YQ  with  them  or  not — > 
come  and  put  me  in  mind  of  the  secret,  and  you'Jl 
hear  it,  never  fear  1" 

"  Very  good,  Michael,  I'll  get  Tom  to  take  the 
thing  in  hands,  though  it's  very  like  going  on  a 
fool's  errand,  when  I  don't  know  myself  what  I'm 
about.  No  matter,  it's  all  a  joke,  anyhow,  and 
there  can't  come  mud  harm  of  it,  one  way  or  the 
9ther.     But  upon  ray  credit,  Michael,  if  it  was  tki 


r4_ 


:«,:k, 


' 'If  ■    ■"I 


'3m 

'''ill 

^     ■  1 


■r    > 


> 


c 

*■■;        .       ;i 

■  -.»-.} 

■■l 

■ .   M 

1 

II 

■/ ' 

•«,  -             .l 

:'*i 

386 


;v:i^ 


■*' 

•' .' 

■  •              ''■' 

\ 

A^. 

'. .  ■ 

»/ 

■  f  * 

• 

.*:' 

H       .•       '^i 

!■■ 

.;.* 

•■1 

1 . 

<;                      1 

^iJ'^  ■ 

■:■■>,'",,■■ 

t.i:' 

Rli'' 

;  1 

,^,; 

OLD   AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


first  of  April  I  wouldn^t  do  2^,  for  I  know  youVe  n 
•ly  customer.     Good  night,  at  any  rate  !" 

Hands  were  shook,  and  good-byes  exchanged,  and 
the  three  had  descended  to  the  little  hall  together, 
when  in  came  the  three  young  ladies.  They  were 
quite  taken  aback  on  meeting  McConoghy  face  to 
face,  and  though  each  in  turn  honored  him  with  the 
tips  of  her  right-hand  fingers,  and  a  nod  of  icy  con- 
descension, with  a  formal  inquiry  as  to  how  he  did, 
he  felt  nowise  encouraged  to  prolong  the  conversa- 
tion, or  turn  the  meeting  to  further  account. 

The  visitor  being  gone,  and  the  family  re-assem- 
bled in  the  little  sitting-room  above,  the  girls  began 
to  rate  tb«'>i    father  for  keeping  such  low  company. 

"  What  in  ihc  world  made  you  bring  such  a  person 
here,  pa  ?'*  inquired  the  eldest  young  lady  with  great 
earnestness. 

"I  didn't  bring  him — he  came^''  was  the  laconic 
answer. 

"  Well,  but  just  imagine,  pa !  how  it  would  be," 
said  the  middle  young  lady,  "  if  it  was  daylight ! — 
what  AFOuld  the  neighbors  think  to  see  such  a  big, 
coarse,  vulgar-looking  fellow  going  out  from  here  ? 
Why  my  !  they'd  have  it  all  around  that  he  was  after 
lomeofusland '* 

"  And  I  wish  you  may  ever  get  the  like  of  him, 
tky  fine  damsel !"  interrupted  her  fiither  angrily. 
^  I  can  tell  you  there's  little  danger  of  his  being  .alter 
jiny  oiyou  ! — he's  in  a  fair  way  of  being  independent 
Boon,  and  he  wants  a  wife  with  money.  >vhat  ymi 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


237 


haven*t  to  get.  Besides,  girls  !  he  wants  a  wife  thai 
can  take  charge  of  a  house,  and  make  herself  useful 
in  it,  and  not  be  above  her  business.  "You  kno\f 
yourselves  whether  there's  such  a  wife  iie^re  for  him 
or  any  one  else.  Get  the  lamp,  Michael !  till  we  go 
to  bed." 

"  What  are  you  grinning  at,  you  good-for-nothing 
monkey  ?"  exclaimed  Sarah  Eugenia,  glad  to  find 
some  excuse  for  venting  the  wrath  which  her  father's 
words  had  kindled  within  her. 

"  Wait  till  Tve  more  time,  and  I'll  tell  you !"  said 
Michael  looking  over  his  shoulder  as  he  left  the  room, 
*'  but  I'll  take  time  now  to  tell  you  this,  that  father 
has  more  patience  with  you  than  Td  have,  if  I  was 
in  his  place." 

"  God  help  them !  God  help  them  !'*  said  the  father 
compassionately  as  he  took  the  way  to  his  bed- 
room, "  they're  ill-fitted  to  wrestle  with  the  world — 
as  long  as  God  leaves  me  over  them  they're  all 
right,  but  what  would  become  of  them,  poor  things, 
if  tliey  had  to  shift  for  themselves  I" 

The  girls  laughed  derisively  when  their  father  was 
out  of  hearing.  "  I  guess  pa'd  make  a  good  preach- 
er!" said  one. 

"  No,  he  wouldn't,"  said  another,  "  he's  too 
prosy.  But  just  to  think  of  him  having  that  nasty 
fellow,  McConoghy,  here — there  would  be  no  fear 
of  him  having  any  nice  young  man  that  people  could 
look  at.  My  !  a'lU  it  provoking  ?  I'm  sure  pa  and 
be  had  soin^etking  bct^vccn  them— let  pa  say  as  be 


**.'«■  V- 


"■i  : 


i.  ^ 
'■''■  f- 


'-  ■■'  ♦. 


1-'  ^.! 


i>' 


838 


I*?  !H*i 


i,,  > 


■■■■■■iay*  !■  tM-.-".-"!.''.    1 


OL  y    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


will — it  a*nt  for  nothing  he  came  to  spend  the  even- 
ing !    Did  you  see  that  book  I  was  reading  ?" 

"What  book?" 

"  Why  that  Fatal  Secret !  I  hope  pa  didn't  get 
his  hands  on  it." 

"I  shouldn't  wonder  if  he  had,  for  you  left  it  here 
on  the  table  this  morning  when  you  went  out." 

"  I  don't  think  he  saw  it,  though,"  said  Mary  Cle- 
mentina, "  for  I  put  it  away." 

"  That's  a  darling !  where  did  you  put  it  ?  I  want 
to  finish  it  to-night,  for  we've  got  to  return  it  to- 
morrow, you  know,  to  the  Library,  and  you  two 
have  it  finished,  but  /haven't." 

The  book  was  placed  in  her  hands  by  the  younger 
sister,  and,  after  mumbling  over  a  few  prayers, 
Sarah  Eugenia  half  undressed  herself,  and,  throwing 
a  shawl  over  her  shoulders,  sat  down  at  a  small 
table  near  her  bed  to  unweave  by  the  light  of  ;i 
camphene  lamp  the  mystic  web  which  enwrapped 
the  Fatal  Secret. 

A  Fatal  Secret  it  was  to  the  Hackett  family !  That 
night,  when  the  great  city  lay  in  hushed  repose,  the 
neighborhood  was  alarmed  by  the  startling  tinkle 
of  the  fire-bell  from  the  next  engine-house,  and  the 
cry  of  "  Fire  !'*  echoing  along  the  deserted  streets 
People  hurried  from  their  beds,  and  ran  to  tlio 
windows  to  see  where  the  fire  was,  and  the  sound  of 
many  feet  was  heard  clattering  on  the  flags;  engine 
after  engine  swept  along  with  lightning  speed,  each 
with  its  attendant  train  of  yelling  ragamuffins,  and 


:  '^ 


•A,t: 


'*y  >*'^ 


TASTK   VERSUS    FASHION. 


239 


* 
■^  I 


the  crowd  and  the  engines  and  all  the  horrid  din 
collected  in  front  of  Henry  Hackett's  door ;  and 
there  was  the  so-late  quiet  and  snug  little  dwelling 
h11  in  flames,  and  the  inmates  rushing  to  and  fro  half 
dressed  and  only  half  awake,  the  girls  trying  to  se- 
cure a  few  articles  of  clothing,  and  some  small  things 
that  they  could  carry  with  them,  their  father  and 
Michael  to  recover  their  shop-books  and  what  little 
money  they  had  had  in  hands.  For  some  time 
hopes  had  been  entertained  that  the  fire  might  be 
extinguished  without  much  damage  to  the  house, 
and  the  firemen,  touched  with  poor  Hackett's  word- 
less, heart-breaking  sorrow,  made  every  elFort  that 
skill  and  courage  could  dictate,  but  it  soon  be- 
came painfully  evident  that  the  fire  was  gaining 
ground,  and  in  a  very  short  time  all  hope 
of  saving  the  house  was  abandoned,  the  ques- 
tion being  then  to  prevent  the  fire  from  reach- 
ing the  adjoining  premises.  This  was  happily  ac- 
complished, to  the  great  relief  of  the  Gallaghers 
and  Fogartys,  but  poor  Henry  Hackett  was  left 
without  house  or  home,  or  furniture,  except  a  few 
articles  of  no  great  value.  As  for  the  store,  it  was 
gone  with  all  it  contained — his  whole  stock  was 
swept  away,  and  "  not  a  penny  of  insurance  on  it," 
as  he  mournfully  said  to  Mr.  Gallagher  and  Mr. 
Fogarty  when  they  put  the  question  to  him.  The 
girls  had  been  taken  in  immediately  by  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher and  her  daughters,  and  made  as  comfortable 
«6  theii*  misery^  would  allow  them  to  be  made.    But 


^-''•'V.r^.V'r 


■  '.>  ■    ■•'»  1 


i';'' 


•^  \  tJ    *: 


i' 


■  ■:::     t, 


;>  , 


%^  ■ 


■    '.  I 


>-.^i. 


w 


■^.  )- 


■''!   f     '•    ."' .  '•'  ,i  I  ' 


?40 


OLD   AND   NETT.    OS, 


for  Sarah,  in  particular,  there  was  no  oonsolation— 
she  kept  wringing  her  hands  and  crying  piteously, 
though  she  either  would  not  or  could  not  tell  why 
her  grief  was  so  overwhelming  beyond  all  the 
others,  who  were  sharers  in  her  misfortune.  Her 
sisters  were  not  slow  to  explain  the  why  and  where- 
fore. They  told  her  plainly  that  it  was  all  her 
doings,  for  that  she  had  been  sitting  up  reading 
after  they  had  gone  to  bed  and  were  fast  asleep, 
and  when  one  of  them  awoke  some  time  in  the  niglit 
they  found  the  room  full  of  smoke,  and  the  table 
she  was  sitting  at  and  the  book  she  had  been  read- 
ing all  in  a  blaze;  she  herself  was  leaning  back  in  her 
chair  asleep,  but  it  would  seem  as  if  some  motion 
of  hers  had  upset  the  lamp  and  the  dangerous  fluid 
igniting  set  all  it  reached  in  a  blaze.  Sarah's  con- 
science testified  to  the  truth  of  the  accusation,  and, 
contrary  to  her  wont,  she  made  no  answer  to  the 
bitter  taunts  and  reproaches  of  her  sisters.  The 
better  qualities  of  her  nature  seemed  called  into 
action  by  this  dread  calamity,  and  no  selfish  thought 
wp*8  mingled  with  her  sorrow.  The  only  words 
that  escaped  her  lips  in  all  the  agony  of  her  re- 
morse were,  "My  father!  my  poor  hard-working 
father !  he  has  lost  all !  he's  left  without  a  roof  to 
cover  him  this  dismal  night."  U 

"No,  no,  Sarah!  don't  say  that,"  said  Mrs.  Gal- 
laghfir  kindly  and  tenderly  (so  true  it  is  that  mis- 
fortime  is  the  touchstone  of  character),  "there's 
none  of  yon  without  a  roof  to  cover  yoxk  while  tM 


TA8TI   VntSTTS   FASHION 


241 


}.  Gal. 
mis- 


Ii.ive  one  over  us! — don't  grieve  so,  my  poor  girl! 
it's  not  80  bad  as  it  might  be,  aller  all ! — ii*8  a  ^'i  eat 
loss  surely  to  your  poor  father,  but  still  it  can  be 
remedied  !" 

Henrv  Hackett  and  his  son  could  not  be  r)er 
Buaded  to  leave  the  scene  ot*  the  disaster  till  the 
last  beam  had  fallen  in  and  their  house  was  a  heap 
of  smouldering  ruins;  then  with  a  heavy  8ii;h  liie 
poor  father  turned  away,  saying  to  his  laiihlul  Mi- 
chael: "We  may  go  now,  Mike! — and  look  for  a 
shelter  !'* 

*'  It  is  not  far  off,  Henry,"  said  Mr.  Fogarty  at 
his  elbow,  "  the  girls  are  at  Mr.  Gallagher's,  and  you 
and  Michael  are  my  property.  Come  along  in,  for 
I'm  sure  you're  in  need  of  rest  and  refreshment." 

"  I'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Fogarty  ■*'  said  Ilackett 
in  a  choking  voice,  "  it's  just  what  I'd  expect  from 
you,  and  we'll  thankfully  accept  your  kind  offer, 
but  first  we  must  go  and  see  the  girls.  Tm  afeard 
some  of  them  was  the  cause  of  all  this,  but  still 
there's  no  use  flying  in  the  face  of  God,  or  getting 
in  a  passion  about  it.  I  suppose  it  was  to  be,  or  it 
wouldn't  be." 

*  Well !  IMl  go  with  you,  for  fear  they'd  keep  you 
there,  and  I  can't  allow  that." 

When  the  girls  saw  their  father  and  Michael  tbth 
grief  broke  out  anew,  and  it  yy^a  a  pitiful  thing  to 
see  the  father  trying  to  offer  consolation  to  them, 
when  he  needed  it  himself  mo^t  of  all. 

*  Well,  girls  I"  said  he,  "  it  will  do  no  good  to 


.  r 


I, ' 


■i? 

.  ' .  ■   '5  i. 

,-:'■'■    f      •• 

• 

M 

■t  ■  >     ■ ;. 


»  - 


f.  "•'i 

■a  »-  V 


,  1 


213 


01,n    AKD    NKW  ;    OR, 


m. 

K 


^^■^ 


X  ,   ,  , 

cry  or  fret  now — what's  clone  can't  be  undone,  and 
if  God  was  pleased  to  take  so  much  of  my  honest 
earning  away  from  us,  lie  can  give  it  baclv  in  His  o\\u 
time,  if  we  only  submit  as  Cliristians  to  His  blessed 
and  holy  will.  But  how  in  the  wide  world  did  the 
fire  originate? — I  know  it  v  as  in  your  room,  but 
wiiat  waii  the  cause  of  it, — that's  what  I'd  wish  to 
know." 

Ann  and  Mary  looked  at  their  elder  sister,  and 
their  father's  eyo««  following  theira  he  was  shocked 
to  see  Sarah  paie  as  death,  her  eyes  heavy  and 
swollen,  and  she  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  Sise 
was  evidently  struggling  with  herself  whether  to 
speak  or  not.  She  looked  around ;  all  the  Gal- 
laghers and  the  young  Fogartys  and  their  father 
were  in  the  room,  and  the  crimson  blood  rushed  to 
the  girl's  face,  but  happily  she  remembered  the  con- 
fusion of  one  greater  than  all  the  sons  of  men,  confu- 
sion endured  for  her  amongst  others,  and  immediately 
strength  was  given  her  to  confess  her  fault,  and  she 
said  in  a  firm  voice : 

"  Father,  it  was  I  that  did  it — the  fault  is  all  mine, 
and  no  one  else  must  be  blamed.  I  was  sitting  up 
reading,  and  fell  asleep  in  my  chair,  and  I  suppose  I 
upset  the  lamp  someway  in  my  sleep;  but  I  don't 
remember  anything  about  it,  and  never  even  felt  the 
smoke  until  Ann  and  Mary  jumping  out  of  bed  woke 
me  up.  By  that  time  the  room  was  most  all  in  a 
blaze." 

"  Poor  child  !'*  said  her  father  kindly  and  in  atone 


1   / 


k 

■-■> 

TASTE    VERsrs    FASHIOK. 


24! 


of  compassion,  "  I  don't  blame  you — I  see  you  ft'ol 
worse  about  our  misfortune  even  than  I  do  myself." 

♦'  I  do,  father,"  said  Sarah  in  a  husky  voice,  "  I  do 
^'t'el  it  worse  than  you,  and,  with  God's  help,  I'll 
never  forget  it.** 

And  she  never  did  forget  it ;  from  that  night  for- 
ward Sarah  Ilackett  was  a  different  girl,  and  through 
all  the  trials  and  difficulties  her  father  had  to  en- 
jounter  before  he  regained  the  ground  he  had  lost, 
his  eldest  daughter  was  a  comfort  and  support  to 
him  no  less  than  his  trusty  Michael.  One  salutary 
change  effected  in  her  by  that  night's  disaster  was  a 
horror  of  bad  books,  and  nothing  would  ever  after 
induce  her  to  read  or  even  to  open  onr. 

But  things  were  not  quite  so  bad  with  Henry 
Ilackett  and  his  family  as  people  were  apt  to  sup' 
pose.  He  had  still  his  two  thousand  dollars  in 
bank,  and  with  that  he  started  his  business  again  a 
little  farther  up  in  the  same  street.  Many  kind 
friends  pressed  forward  to  help  him  with  money  or 
credit,  but  Hackett  was  a  man  that  would  never 
have  another  run  any  risk  for  him  if  he  possibly 
could  help  it,  and  to  borrow  money  without  actual 
necessity  was  equally  against  his  principles,  so  he 
cieerfully  drew  his  little  all  from  the  bank,  and 
hiiving  invested  a  hundred  dollars  or  so  in  such  ar- 
ticles of  furniture  as  could  not  be  dispensed  with, 
he  laid  in  what  stock  he  could  advantageously  buy 
for  the  remainder,  and  went  to  work  again  himself 
and  Michael  as  cheerily  as  though  no  reverse  had 


^^9^ 


V  <-.:  ■■ . 


:■   i  , 


.'  -5 


I 


U' 


& 


244 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


n 


ff 


".^r*;;^; 


come  to  cloud  Ins  prospects.  He  was  in  the  habit 
of  sa}ing  that  the  comfort  he  had  now  in  Sarah  was 
worth  all  it  cost,  and  that  he  would  think  it  well 
bought  even  if  he  ha  i  lost  all. 

The  fact  was  that  Sarah  helped  considerably  to 
retrieve  the  misfortune  she  had  unwittingly  caused. 
She  would  not  hear  of  keeping  a  girl,  and  did  tlie 
greater  part  of  the  work  herself,  not  to  6j)eak  of 
the  sewing  which  she  managed  to  get  all  done  in 
the  house,  much  against  the  will  of  her  sisters  in 
whom  the  old  Adam  was  as  strong  as  ever — 
etronger,  indeed,  from  the  bitter  mortification  they 
were  daily  obliged  to  undergo  in  the  article  of 
dress  and  other  matters  of  equally  paramount  im- 
portance. They  were  very  sore  in  regard  to  Sa- 
raii's  new  turn  for  Domestic  Economy,  a  science 
for  which,  of  all  others.  Misses  Ann  VVilhelmina  and 
Mary  Clementina  entertained  the  most  profound 
contempt.  Experiments  in  that  art  were  always 
dry  an*'  distasteful  to  them,  even  when  the  result 
was  to  be  some  savory  dish  or  delicate  confection. 
They  never  could  be  brought  to  take  an  interest  in 
the  fabrication  oi'  puff  or  any  other  paste — apple 
damplings  were  their  abomination,  and  puddings 
of  ail  kinds  were  "  the  greatest  bore" — only  in  the 
nwkinf!;^  however,  for  the  junior  Miss  Hacketts  by 
no  means  disliked  that  part  of  the  pndding  which  if* 
vulgarly  called  its  ^^rw/" — to  wit,  the  eating  of  it. 
Many  a  time  they  might  have  been  told  by  Sarah 
what  Alfred  the  Great  in  his  dijjiguised  state  was 


3 

4        « 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


245 


■  11 

"  ■ » 


told  by  the  herdsman's  wife  wlien  he  allowed  hef 
oaten  cakes  to  burn:  "You're  better  at  eating  my 
cakes  when  they're  baked  than  you  are  at  minding 
them  when  they're  baking." 

Amongst  those  who  interested  themselves  most 
in  helping  Henry  Hackctt  through  his  difficulties 
were  the  Murrays  and  Yon  Wiegels ;  they  assisted 
him  in  various  ways  to  extend  his  business,  and  sent 
him  many  substantial  proofs  of  their  good-will  in  the 
shape  of  valuable  presents  of  furniture  and  other 
matters  connected  with  the  re-establishment  of  his 
household.  Mi:;^  Von  Wiegel,  hearing  from  Michael 
of  the  very  satisfactory  change  in  his  elder  sister, 
took  occasion  one  day  to  call  with  Alice  and  tell 
Mi-^ts  Hackett  by  word  of  mouth  how  pleased  they 
all  were  to  hear  of  her  comnvendable  industry  and 
clevotion  to  her  father's  comfort. 

"  At  the  same  time,  Miss  Hackett !"  bM  the 
young  lady  when  she  and  her  friend  rose  to  go, 
"  at  the  same  time,  permit  me  to  offer  yon  this 
little  token  of  my  esteem  which  you  will  w<»ar  in 
remembrance  of  me." 

"  And  of  me  /am,"  said  Alice  Murray,  and  each 
of  them  handed  a  tiny  parcel  to  the  surprised  and 
blushing  Sarah,  who  chanced  to  be  alone  at  the  mo- 
ment. She  curtsied  her  ack.iowledgment;  she  could 
liardly  find  words  to  express  what  she  felt. 

When  the  ladies  were  gone  and  the  parcels  ex« 
amined  they  were  found  to  contain.  Miss  Von 
M^i6gel*8  a  valuable  ring  and  brooch,  Miss  Murray '»i 


,_iiij 


■a 


246 


OLD   AND   NEW;   OR, 


•Si 


two  or  three  setts  of  French  lace  sleeves  and  collars 
worth  several  dollars.  Sarah  had  still  enough  of 
girlisb  vanity  remaining  to  be  delighted  with  the 
costly  gifts  she  had  received,  and  we  miist  do  her 
the  justice  of  saying  that  she  valued  them  more  as 
tokens  of  the  approbation  of  two  such  ladies  than 
even  their  own  intrinsic  worth  consi  l^rable  as  it 
was.  "  If  I  had  been  still  the  vain,  gidd"  'die 
thing  I  once  was,"  said  she  to  herself,  "  it  wo^  /d  be 
long  before  they  would  take  such  notice  of  me,  and 
I'd  live  m.y  lifetime  maybe  without  getting  any 
such  presents."  . 

She  didn't  say  so  to  her  sisters,  ho  i\,'ever,  for  their 
mortification  was  bitter  enough,  and  "lieir  spite  no 
less  so,  when  they  saw  the  beautiful  gilts  Sarah  had 
received,  and  what  they  thought  quite  as  much  of, 
the  h,onor  of  a  visit  from  Miss  Von  Wiegel  and  Misa 
Murray.  Their  father  and  Michael  were  delighted, 
and  told  Sarah  that  was  what  came  of  doing  one's 
duty.  Michael's  reading  enabled  him  to  quote  Shaks* 
pearc  on  that  memorable  occasion : 

"  Sweet  are  the  uses  of  adversity, 
Which,  Itke  the  toad,  ugly  and  venomous, 
Wears  yet  a  precious  jewel  in  its  head." 


:,'y^ 


■,-M 


W-^^'" 


•%' 


TASTE    VEK8U8   FA8Hl>jr. 


241 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


ABOUT   NOTHING — AND  A   PAMfLY   PORTRAIT 


It  so  happened  that  the  eclaircissemmit  promised 
by  Miss  Von  Wiegel  to  her  mother  was  postponed, 
if  not  longer  than  she  intended,  at  least  much  too 
long  for  the  natural  anxiety  of  a  mother  under  such 
circumstances.  What  rendered  Madam  Von  Wiegel 
doubly  desirous  of  knowing  what  Bertha  knew  of 
Major  Montague  was  the  awkward  restraint  which 
her  uncertainty  regarding  him  necessarily  imposed 
upon  her  in  her  intercourse  with  him.  With  Bel- 
lew  all  was  open  as  the  day — she  could  talk  with 
h'm  as  freely  on  every  subject  as  though  she  had 
known  him  for  years,  but  with  Montague  the  case 
Avas  altogether  different.  There  was  something 
about  him  that  repelled  any  attempt  at  familiarity, 
and  the  old  lady,  herself  as  dignified  and  reserved 
38  feminine  gentleness  and  lady-like  deportment 
would  at  all  permit,  felt  little  desire  to  lessen  the 
distance  between  them.  Still  there  was  a  per- 
ceptible difference  in  her  manner  towards  him  after 
slie  had  heard  from  Bertha  who  he  was.  She  mad# 
BO  advances,  it  is  true,  in  the  way  of  inviting  fami- 
liarity, but  she  would  sit  and  look  at  him  througu 
hei*  gold-mounted  spectacles,  when  she  thought  no 
»>ne  observed  her,  till  tl^o  tears  that  welled  up  trora 


.,  -if,    ».  - 


■^ 


fl 

^' 

:  4" 

% 


i4#ii^i 


1'.     »••  . 


m 


i/  ,r.:?v*-:>/: 


;^!^' . 


248 


OLD*    AND    NEW  ,   OR,   ; 


>.  J-- 


r>.  "i^ 


■  ■x<'-'  ^^^ 


V 


'«,!' 


her  heart  dimmed  her  eyes,  and  her  glasses,  too 
There  was,  moreover,  a  softened  tone  in  her 
voi«e  when  sbo  addressed  him,  though  that  was  no 
oftener  than  usual  and  when  his  voice  reached  her 
ear  suddenly  she  would  start,  and,  perhaps,  glance 
hurriedly  around  as  if  half  forgetting  where  she 
was.  Once  she  said  in  a  low  voice  to  Bertha,  as 
Montague  sat  conversing  with  Mr.  Murray  at  a 
little  distance,  full  in  ihe  light  of  a  chandelier : 
"  My  God  !  what  a  dream  is  life  ! — with  him  before 
me  I  can  forget  one  half  my  years  ! — such  was  his 
father  eight-and-thirty  years  ago  when  we  parted  in 
anger  to  meet  no  more  as — as  friends.  He  was 
married  soon  after — and  so  was  I.** 

"You  loved  him,   mother?"   whispered  Bertha 
deeply  interested. 

"  Loved  him  ! — yes ! — why  should  I  now  conceal 
It — and  from  you,  my  child  ?  Lord  Dunmore — or 
Harry  Montague  as  he  was  in  those  days — was  my 
first  love,  and  wild  and  wayward  as  he  was,  and 
proud  and  passionate,  I  believe  he  loved  me  as  only 
such  natures  can — with  all  his  faults,  Bertha  I  I 
found  it  hard,  believe  me,  to  tear  his  image  from 
my  heart.  I  did,  however,  for  your  father'^  worth 
commanded  my  respect,  and  his  steady  c?,lm  affee 
tion  made  me  love  him.  Perchance  I  was  hap- 
pier with  him  than  I  ever  could  have  been  wi'J) 
Montague,  gifted  and  fascinating  as  he  was,  but  now 
when  I  look  at  his  son,  and  see  him  just  what  he  waS; 
old  memories  come    crowding  on  my  heart,  th« 


^1  ,,• 


'•,.  '  »'■  V.I 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOK. 


249 


jlreams  of  youth  flit  before  my  eyes,  and  the  loved 
and  lost  are  around  me  warm  with  the  hu-js  of  life." 

"  But  why  did  you  and  Lord  Dunmore  part,  mo» 
ther  ?"  said  Bertha  in  a  painfully  earnest  tone. 

"  Because,"  said  her  mother  speaking  with  evi 
dent  reluctance,  "  because  I  found  that  he — he  did 
not  quite  come  up  to  my  moral  standard  for  a  hus- 
band. I  spoke  to  him  of  certain  matters  that  had 
come  to  my  knowledge,  he  was  very  indignant,  and 
refused  any  sort  of  explanation.  But  Bertha,  my 
dearest  daughter !  how  is  this  ? — how  pale  you 
are !" 

"  Oh !  it  is  nothing,  mother,  nothing,"  said  Ber- 
tha with  a  wan  smile,  "  only  a  sudden  faintness." 
And  she  bent  her  head  over  the  scent-bottle  her 
mother  hastened  to  place  in  her  hand. 

"My  dear  Miss  Von  Wiegel!  what  is  the  mat- 
ter?" asked  Captain  Bellew  coming  forward.  "I 
fear  you  are  not  well." 

"  Quite  well,  Captain  Bellew  !  thanks  for  your 
kind  inquiry,"  said  Bertha  with  forced  composure  j 
"  my  mother  is  answerable  for  the  emotion  that  at- 
tracted your  notice.  She  had  been  indulging  more 
than  is  her  wont  in  old  reminiscences,  and  some  of 
them  affected  me  more  than  a  little." 

Mr.  Murray  said:  "Pshaw!  some  of  her  old  love- 
passages — I'll  warrant  your  mother  had  lovers  by 
the  dozen  in  her  time.'*  • 

Montague  arose  and  walked  to  the  fireplace, 
where  he  stood  for  a  few  moments  with  his  back  to 


,■'-!   ,:•)! 


'    -   I  if'  '^1 

.'     ■■■'■'' 'Sj 


r-^3ilC 


'.'«V 


1 


>|. .  i 


;      ft ,"    ■ 


flw"p'^ 


.:.fe 


^k^:^-, 


vr  -■-: 


:.:H  ^.:1;;lH'^'^■• 


250 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


the  company,  apparently  examining  the  specimeni 
of  marble  that  formed  a  miniature  obelisk  on  the 
mantel-piece.  Thence  he  extended  his  attention  to 
the  portrait  of  the  Ritter  Von  Wiegel,  and  at  last 
approaching  Bertha,  said  in  a  tone  of  perfect  ease 
and  self-possession : 

"  I  hope  you  feel  quite  recovered,  Miss  Von 
Wiegel."  .     . 

"Perfectly  so,  I  thank  you.  Major  Montague!" 
was  the  cold  reply. 

lie  looked  at  her  a  moment,  as  if  half  inclined  to 
say  more,  but,  changing  his  mind,  he  turned  to  Bel- 
lew,  and  taking  out  his  watch,  said,  "  I  say.  Bellow, 
what  oi  Lttcia?  you  seem  to  forget  our  engagement 
for  the  opera."      .  , 

"  It  were  little  wonder  if  I  did  in  this  presence," 
returned  the  captain,  bowing  gallantly  to  the  ladies. 
*'  We  have  a  Lucy  Ashton  here,"  bowing  again  to 
Alice,  "  who  might  have  sat  for  the  veritable  Bride 
of  Lammermoor,  and,  by-the-bye,  Montague,  now  I 
think  of  it,  Sir  Walter  must  have  had  you  in  his 
mind's  eye — in  perspecto,  of  course — when  he  drew 
the  Master  of  Ravenswood.  The  name,  too — 
Edgar! — by  my  honor,  it  is  quite  a  coincidence 
What  think  you,  Miss  Von  Wiegel?*' 

Bertha  started,  and  looked  somewhat  confused. 
She  had  just  been  thinking  how  Edgar  Montague 
would  look  and  act  and  speak  as  Lucy  Ashton's 
lover,  and;  unc<>nsciou8ly,  she  had  fixed  her  gaze  on 
his  dark,  cold,  and  classicallv-correct  features,  ap  ^«* 


,'  t 


,  ^:f  .'• 


;j. 


9-»  ii- 


TASTK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


251 


stood  before  her  with  his  eyes  cast  do\,'n  as  if  in 
thought.  He  looked  up  at  the  moment,  and  his 
i^la^ce  fell  on  Bertha's  face,  as  she  faltered  out,  "  I 
really  have  no  opinion  tc  offer." 

"  Save  and  except  the  trifling  difference  that  I  am 
rich  and  Ravenswood  poor,"  said  the  major,  "  I 
accept  the  likeness,  flattering  though  it  be — but  I 
would  that  /  were  Edgar  Ravenswood  and  he 
Edgar  Montague." 

"  What  says  our  fair  Lucy  ?"  said  the  captain 
forcing  a  smile.  There  was  a  bitter  meaning  in  his 
friend's  words  that  reached  his  heart  and  made  him 
sadder  than  he  would  wish  to  show. 

Alice  was  looking  up  with  something  like  childish 
wonder  into  Montague's  face — she  had  never  seen 
one  like  it  in  any  degree,  either  in  features  or  ex- 
pression, and  the  language  it  spoke  then  was  beyond 
her  comprehension.    She  answered,  as  if  in  a  dream : 

"Idon*tknow — ask  Bertha  V* 

Every  one  laughed,  except  Montague  and  Bertha, 
and  they  looked  at  each  other  and  smiled  with 
strange  significance.  A  shade  of  some  feeling  too 
deep  for  words  passed  over  either  face,  but  there 
was  coldness,  and  something  like  defiance,  in  the 
momentary  look  they  fixed  on  each  other. 

"  Come !  come !"  said  Bellew  rather  abruptly,  "  we 
are  but  losing  time.  Suppose  we  make  a  party  and 
adjourn  in  full  committee  to  the  opera?" 

"  If  the  ladies  will  so  fai  honor  us,"  said  Majoi 
Montague  hesitatingly.  '  "^  ' 


.,  mm 


i4 


■»  >  *■  \ '  " 


"*r" 


»    "  ■ 


I 


( ' 


,  Jt 


.      ! 


:-»ii:^<-ti 


i-'S&'..', 


■  ;    •  I.     ' 


g^.^),*' 


■''f      < 


l^^rJI-: 


\  V.    •■■■. 


252 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


Mr.  Murray  had  no  objection.  "  Thank  you,** 
s.aid  Bellew,  "  weMl  set  you  down  on  our  first  pro* 
gramme  for  Sir  William  Ashton.'* 

Alice  was  delighted  at  the  idea.  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  declined,  saying  she  had  never  been  to  any 
place  of  public  amusement  since  her  husband's  death, 
but  if  Bertha  desired  to  go  she  had  not  the  slightest 
objection.  "  Indeed,  I  should  be  glad  if  you  went, 
my  dear  !"  she  said  to  her  daughter,  "  for  your  lifu 
is  too  much  in-doors — too  solitary  by  half." 

"  Do  come,  chere  amie,^^  whispered  Alice,  "  you 
know  I  have  hardly  ever  been  to  the  opera,"  but 
Bertha  only  tapped  her  cheek  with  a  smile  of  almost 
maternal  affection,  and  said,  turning  to  the  gentle- 
men ; 

•'  I  must  beg  you  to  excuse  me.  I  could  not  think 
of  leaving  my  moi'-her  alone." 

Her  mother  declared  she  would  not  feel  at  ah 
lonely,  and  begged  her  to  go ;  Alice  pleaded,  and  the 
old  gentleman  grumbled,  but  all  in  vain. 

"  I  thank  you,  Captain  Bellew,  for  your  kind  in- 
vitation," she  said,  in  a  tone  that  admitted  of  no 
further  expostulation,  "  I  cannot  possibly  join  your 
party  to-night.  But  surely,  Mr.  Murray,  you  will 
not,  on  that  account,  deprive  Alice  of  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  Lucia  di  Lammermoor  i"' 

"  I  just  will,  then,  to  spite  you,"  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman very  curtly ;  "  \iynu  dcn't  go,  neither  she  nor 
I  shall  go." 

"  In  that  case,  I  must  only  crave  your  and  her  for 


'■"»■.'.",  /■  .<.'. 


TASTK   VERSUS   FaSHIOK. 


853 


giveness,"  said  Bertha  smiling,  "  and  do  what  I  can 
to  entertain  you  both,  if  you  will  stay  and  sup  with 
us  en  quartette.^''         ' 

"  It's  easy  seen  that  Bob  isn't  here,"  said  RandtJ 
half  pettishly,  "  if  he  were,  I'll  answer  for  it,  you 
wouldn't  be  so  ready  to  refuse." 

"  Poor  Robert !"  sa'^    Bertha,  heaving  a  gentl 
sigh,  "  I  wonder  wliere  h^  is  to-night?*' 

"Is  the  lieutenant  gone,  then?"  asked  Beliew, 
slightly  mortified  by  Miss  Von  Wiegel's  cold  refusal, 
but  never  long  subject  to  any  disagreeable  feeling. 

"  Yes,  poor  Bob  left  us  day  before  yesterday,  and 
down-hearted  enough  he  was,  too— eh,  Bertha  ?  I 
hope  you  didn't  say  anything  to  damp  his  hopes 
when  he  came  to  bid  you  good-bye  ?  Never  mind, 
never  mind ;  no  need  to  blush  so — we  have  all  had 
such  partings  once  in  our  day — eh,  Madam  Von 
VViegel  ?  Well,  Bertha,  my  dear,  I  believe  we  loill 
stay  for  supper — I  wish  you  a  pleasant  evening,  gen- 
tlemen." 

"  And  you  a  pleasant  er  one,  Mr.  Murray !  toge- 
ther with  a  good  appetite!"  said  Beliew  as  they 
shook  hands.  "  Good-bye,  Miss  Murray !  I  am 
little  obliged  to  your  fair  friend  for  depriving  our 
Ravenswood  of  his  Lticia.^* 

"  My  Lucia  !'*  repeated  Montague,  as  he  coldly 
shook  hands  with  Bertha,  "  my  Lucia  lives  ia 
dreamland — nor  man  nor  woman  can  deprive  m« 
o^her  company !" 

"  Oh  I  of  course,  of  course,  Vive  la  gloire  is  youi 


f     .-.'•'•1  ■';■' 


\-    l 


'      '•'    1 


*^'f-        '. 


■  ...    •"  * ; 

■     ■  *  ■       .:    »    ■ 


■•■  ■(. 


■  n 


m 


'%'-.-.■>  f^- ■■■£♦' ■• 


'a^'  ■:: 


'•;  •'  '^ivv'-.-J:.,. 


4» 


5;N;rt. .  :^.■■:■ 


954 


•    OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OE, 


motto — and  a  coy  dame  she  is  to  woo,  let  me  tell 
you  ! — well  1  come  along,  friend  mine  1  au  revair 
ladies!" 

"  Now  upon  your  honor !"  resumed  Bellew  when 
the  two  friends  found  themselves  arm  in  arm  walk- 
ing down  the  avenue,  "  would  you  not  rather  re- 
main and  share  the  hospitality  bo  gracefully  offered 
to  others  than  go  to  regale  your  ears  on  the  heart- 
melting  tones  of  Lucy  Ashton's  love  and  sorrow?" 

"  You  forget,  my  dear  Gerald  !'*  said  Montague 
In  a  subdued  tone,  "  that  your  friend  is  a  most  faith- 
ful votary  of  Apollo.  Music  hath  charms,  the  poet 
says, 

'*  *  To  sofien  rocks  and  bend  the  knotted  oak.*  " 

"  Yea,  verily,  beloved,"  said  Bellew  methodisti- 
cafiy,  *'I  own  music  hath  charms,  but  there  be 
charms  greater  still.  Yea,  even  such  as  bound  the 
Norman  conqueror  and  laid  him  in  chains  at  the 
feet  of  Egypt's  quee^^ — such  spells  as  Mary  Stuart 
cast  on  the  knights  of  France  and  the  lords  of 
Scotland." 

"  Such  glamory,  too,"  said  Montague  laughing, 
"  as  *  the  gypsey  laddie'  of  Scottish  song  threw  over 
*  the  Earl's  lady'  when,  almost  without  the  asking, 
he  wiled  her  away  *  from  her  own  wedded  lord'  to 
follow  a  gaberlunzie.  Were  such  charm  at  my  dis- 
posal there  is  a  possibility  that  I  mi^ht  be  tempted 
to  show  my  power  were  it  but  for  dear  revenge; 
but  you  know,  Gerald  !  I  have  long  forsworn  tb«? 
dangerous  art  of  love-making.     My  heart  is  8heath;icl 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


25& 


,    It 


In  triple  armor  you  know  full  well,  and  every  avenue 
leading  to  it  closed  against  la  belle  passion.     I  have 
not  forgotten  the  dear-bought  lessons  of  the  past 
relieve  me  I  have  not!" 

"Whether  or  no,  Major  Edgar  Montague!  you 
remind  me  very  much  of  a  moth  in  dangerous  prox- 
imity to  a  candle.  The  candle  might  safely  lay  itT 
hand  on  its  heart  (supposing  it  had  those  useful 
organs)  and  disclaim  all  evil  intent  towards  the 
moth,  and  that  volatile  insect  might  with  equal  sin- 
cerity declare  upon  its  honor  it  didn't  mean  to 
scorch  its  dainty  pinions,  nor  wouldn't  either,  being 
all  over  'sheathed  in  triple  armor.'  Have  I  suc- 
ceeded, Edgar !  in  pointing  a  moral  ?" 

"Possibly  you  have,  but  your  moral,  luckily, 
does  not  'adorn  a  tale.'  You  are  complimentary, 
my  good  fellow  I  in  your  choice  of  an  illustration. 
And  apropos  to  that,  what  a  Lucia  you  were  kind 
enough  to  give  me  this  evening  !'* 

'*  Why  ?  do  you  not  think  la  belle  Alice  would 
make  a  passable  Lucy  Ashton  ?" 

"  I  do  not  deny  it ;  but  Lucy  Ashton  herself,  in 
all  her  fawn-like  beauty  and  dove-like  gentleness  is 
not  my  ic//e-ideal.  Much  as  you  say  I  resemble  the 
Master  of  Ravenswood  I  can  only  account  for  his 
wild  passion  for  Lucy  Ashton  on  the  principle  that 
extremes  meet.  I  can  understand  the  extent  of  his 
love  and  the  form  it  assumed  in  such  a  nature  under 
Buch  circumstances,  but  I  never  could  and  never  can 
eoQceive  how  one  so  highly  endowed  ^y  nature  could 


SI    Sr^' 


mMm 


\..% 


'fl 


.s^ 


im 


/  ?■ 


y,   *v 


i^.<'-  » 


M'^  ^.- 


%-' 


256 


OLD   AKD    NEW  ;     OR, 


waste  such  a  treasure  of  love  on  a  pale  fair-hnired  gir' 
of  very  moderate  intellect.  She  was  too  fair  and  too 
fond  to  strike  the  deepest  chords  of  my  heart " 

"  Too  fond,  Edgar  I  how  mean  you  ? — surely  t/utt 
would  be  no  disqualification?" 

"  It  would,  if  it  were  too  transparent.  Beauty, 
half  seen,  is  most  captivating,  and  love,  too  plain 
and  too  demonstrative,  loses  half  its  charms. 
The  spell  we  spoke  of  a  little  while  ago  has  deeper 
and  more  subtle  agencies  than  mere  beauty  of  face 
and  form.  Even  the  instances  quoted  by  yourself 
go  to  prove  that:  Neither  Cleopatra  nor  Mary 
Stuart  could  have  wielded  such  a  power  over  the 
hearts  of  men — no,  nor  the  Grecian  Helen  neither — 
were  they  not  invested  with  other  charms,  totally 
distinct  from  beauty  in  its  common  acceptation. 
Yourself,  my  dear  Gerald  !  is  it  beauty  or  sprightly 
wit- 


)) 


"  Both,  Edgar,  both  1"  said  the  captain  gaily ;  "  I 
ki:ow  what  you  were  going  to  ask.  But  here  we 
are  at  the  omnibus  that  will  take  us  to  the  temple 
of  Apollo.  And,  by-the-bye !  you  have  managed 
to  talk  me  out  of  a  very  serious  purpose " 

"  What  was  that,  I  pray  you  ?" 

"  Not  to  hear  a  dissertation  on  charms,  I  give  y  ni 
my  word.     I'll  tell  you  what,  Montague  ue 

many  degrees  too  keen  for  my  poor  wits.' 

"  Your  wits  are  keen  enough,  mine  honest  .lend 
if  you  would  but  rub  them  up  occasionally !" 

They  were  now  in  the  omnibus,  jammed  up 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASniOW. 


S5T 


generally  happens,  with  the  oddest  mixture  of  age, 
Bex  and  condition,  so  conversation  was  at  an  end— ' 
(or  which  one  of  the  gentlemen  at  least  was  by  nc 
means  sorry. 

Between  leaving  the  stage,  however,  and  entering 
the  Academy  of  Music,  Bellew  contrived  to  blanch 
the  major's  cheek  by  saying  in  a  whisper  :  "  That 
was  an  unkind  cut,  was  it  not?  about  '  Hlack-eved 
Susan  ?'  She  touched  a  sore  part  just  then  I" 
He  affected  to  laugh,  however,  and  whispered  in 
the  same  tone  as  they  approached  the  ticket-office  : 
"  They  jest  at  scars  who  never  felt  a  wound.  Well 
for  those  who  have  no  sore  spots  to  be  touched- 
no  festering  wounds  for  such  dainty  practitioners  to 
probe?" 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Murray  and  the  ladies  were  appa- 
rently intent  on  a  game  of  loo,  though  a  close 
observer  would  have  seen  that  each  one  was  occu- 
l)ied  more  or  less  with  some  thoughts  or  fancies  of 
their  own.  Even  Randal's  fine  old  face  was  graver 
than  its  wont,  and  Alice,  though  she  smiled  occa- 
BJonally  at  some  petulant  exclamation  of  her  father*a 
when  the  game  was  going  against  him,  was  evi- 
dently inclined  to  the  pensive  mood.  Bertha,  at 
length  noticing  the  preoccupation  of  the  others, 
made  an  effort  to  shake  off  her  own  anxious  thoughts, 
and,  suddenly  threw  down  the  cards  with  a  laugh 
which  she  meant  for  gay,  saying : 

"  T'ere  ! — who  likes  may  have  the  pool  for  me  and 
welcome.     I  am  much  of  the  opinion  of  the  sage  old 


.■ '     \.  •', 


'  ..e, 


t 


:*.-:■ 


t'/ 


S58 


OLD   AND    NEW  I    OR, 


■)'?  > 


jjlll 

moralists  of  the  Spectator,  that  "  it  is  very  wonderful 
to  see  persons  of  the  best  sense  passing  away  a 
dozen  hours  together  in  shuffling  and  dividing  a  pack 
of  cards,  with  no  other  conversation  but  what  is 
made  up  of  a  few  game  phrases,  and  no  other  ideas 
but  those  of  black  or  red  spots  ranged  together  in 
dlfterent  figures.*' 

*'  There  is  much  truth  In  the  remark,  Bertha,  my 
dear,"  said  Kandal  Murray,  "and  yet  see  h^w  men, 
and  women,  too,  can  give  up  their  heaits  to  the  in- 
fluence of  these  same  black  and  red  spots,  and  devoto 
the  energies  of  their  being  to  that  very  idea  which 
your  author  satirizes  so  keenly  !" 

"  Self,  my  dear  sir !  self  is  at  the  bottom  of  that 
t^/t-a,"  said  Madam  Yon  Wiegel ;  "  that  eager  long- 
ing for  success  in  all  things  which  spurs  men  on  to 
the  wildest  deeds  of  daring,  and  renders  them  proof 
against  the  hardest  privations.  Is  not  lite  itself  lik« 
a  game  of  cards,  when  we  come  to  think  of  it  ?" 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Murray,  drawing 
his  chair  nearer  the  fire,  which  the  chill  April  even- 
ing rendered  very  acceptable.  "We  have  our 
trump  cards,  and  our  honors,  and  our  shuffling,  and 
de;iling,  and,  though  we  have  the  lead  of  an  odd 
time,  we  don't  always  take  our  aealing  trick.  Now 
I  thought  Bob  had  turned  up  a  trump  in  ?ds  gamo 
of  life."  He  fixed  his  eyes  abstractedly  on  Bertha, 
then  slowly  added,  "  but  I  almost  begin  to  fear  thti 
boy  didn't  play  his  cards  well — eL,  Bertha  ?" 


TASTE    VERSUS    P'ASHION. 


25\» 


derful 
way  a 
a  pack 
^hat  i^ 
'  ideas 
ther  in 

ha,  my 
w  men, 
the  in- 
i  devoto 
2  which 

of  that 
er  long- 
n  on  to 
ii  proof 
self  likd 
it?" 
rawing 
il  even- 
ve  OUT 
ing,  and 
an  odd 
Now 
is  gjimo 
[Bertha, 
fear  th« 

V 


Bertha  blushed  a  very  little,  but  she  answered 
quite  composedly : 

"  To  carry  out  your  allegory,  Mr,  Murray !  I  think 
Robert  has  scarce  commenced  his  game.  I  know 
not  that  he  will  ever  be  a  scientific  player,  or  a  very 
cautious  one,  but,  in  the  affairs  of  life,  if  not  at 
cards,  a  bold  and  careless  player  often  commands 
brilliant  success.  Robert's  horoscope  is  not  yet 
cast,"  she  added,  looking  thoughtfully  into  the  fire 
before  her,  "  but  the  stars  are  bright,  in  the  house  of 
his  nativity." 

"And  your  horoscope,  my  fair  astrologer  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Murray  rather  more  earnestly  than  a  jest  would 
seem  to  warrant. 

"Mine?'*  said  Bertha,  in  a  dreamy  voice,  and 
without  looking  up,  "mine? — how  should  /k'>i0w  f 
But  I  feel — I  feel  as  though  the  clouds  wcx'o  partiag 
over  my  head,  and  the  shadowy  future  (crvrAr.g  into 
shape." 

Her  large  soft  eyes  were  fixed  on  vitcatcy,  and 
bIic  evidently  forgot  that  she  was  not  alone,     The 
color  faded  gradually  from  her  cheek  in  the  intensity 
of  hei  own  thoughts,  till  she  looked  liko  the  oculp 
tured  image  of  some  artist-poet's  dreaui. 

Mr.  Murray  and  Alice  watched  her  with  wonder* 
ng  eyes,  but   her  mother  only  smiled    sadly,  and 
^vhispered  :  "  Be  not  surprised — there  is,  at  times, 
ft  tinge  of  mysticism  in  her  mind,  that  comes,  I  sup- 
pose, from  her  German  lineage." 

"  What  did  you   say,  my  dear    mother  ?"  said 


/.. 


^: 


k'  ■'' 


-  .» 


■^ 


Iff'  ^ 


260 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  J  '!! 


A  ■ 


"'ill 


■     .,       "'ill 


•.^^u'! 
,.-,. 


?if'^''':.'*t 


Bertha,  recalled  to  consciousness,  or  rather  to  recol* 
lection  by  the  sound  of  her  mother  s  voice. 

"  I  was  telling  our  friends,  my  dear,  that  you  ar* 
somewhat  given  to  fits  of  abstraction  at  times," 

"  I'm  glad  to  see  you  safe  back  in  the  world  of 
reality,  Miss  Bertha,'*  said  Mr.  Murray  in  his 
natural  maimer ;  "  would  it  be  making  too  free  if  I 
asked  who  was  your  companion  in  your  late  journey 
to  the  moon  ?" 

"  I  decline  answering  the  question,"  said  Berthq 
with  a  smile  so  sweet  that  the  old  gentleman's  good 
humor  was  more  than  restored. 

"  Well !  well !"  said  he,  stirring  the  fire  with 
great  energy  and  activity,  "  I  suppose  it  was  *  on 
eagle's  wings*  you  went  aloft,  like  my  countryman, 
Daniel  O'Ronrke,  of  lunar  celebrity.  But  we  were 
talking  of  stars  just  before  you  started  for  Madam 
Cynthia's  domain — what  aspect  do  the  heavenly 
bodies  wear  to-night  ?" 

"  They  are  misty  as  the  ghosts  of  Ossian's  war- 
riors," said  Bertha,  laughing,  "  even  the  *  star  of  the 
west'  has  withdrawn  her  'shadowy  splendor,*  but 
General  Mars,  I  am  happy  to  say,  smiles  fiercely 
down  in  all  the  glory  of  his  zenith.  That  arguei 
well  for  our  young  soldier,  does  it  not  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  now.  Bertha!'*  said  Mr. 
Murray,  turning  phort  on  her,  "  I  think  Bob's  '  par- 
ticular stp*r'  belongs  to  the  terrestrial  globe,  just  now, 
not  the  celestial — not  'aH  the  planets  as  they  roll' 
can  decide  his  fate,  poor  fellow  1" 


<:/■'>''; 


mm 


•ecol* 

m  ari 

J," 

Id  of 
n  \\\^ 
36  if  I 
)urney 

Bertba 
'8  good 

•e  with 
;ras  '  on 
try  man, 
ye  were 
Madam 
eavenly 

I's  war- 
iv  of  the 
|.or,'  but 
fiercely 
argues 

lid    Mr. 

)'8  '  pal'- 

bstnow, 
Ley  voll' 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 

"  Mother,*'  said  Bertha,  avoiding  the  earnest  gaze 
which  Alice  fixed  on  her,  "  mother,  you  have  often 
promised  to  tell  me  the  story  of  that  pale,  melan- 
choly girl  whose  portrait,  hanging  in  a  dark  corner 
of  the  library,  has  excited  my  curiosity  ever  since 
I  have  been  here.  I  am  sure  Mr.  Murray  and  Alice 
will  be  glad  to  hear  a  story  from  you ;  and  it  is  just 
the  time  to  tell  it,  as  we  four  sit  like  the  Monks  of 
Kilcrea,  if  not  '  by  a  bog- wood  fire,'  at  least,  by  a 
very  cheerful  substitute  for  that  patriarchal  flame. 
I  will  turn  the  gas  down  almost  out  of  sight,"  and 
rising  she  suited  the  action  to  the  word,  "  a  story 
of  the  dead  told  by  gas-light  reminds  me  of  a  ven- 
erable ruin  daubed  with  whitewash  or  yellow  ochr' ." 

Mr.  Murray  and  Alice  expressed  themselves  most 
anxious  to  hear  the  story,  and  Madam  Von  Wiegel 
acceded  with  a  grave  smile. 

"  It  is  a  sad  story,"  said  she,  "  that  my  daughter 
will  have  me  tell.  Neither  is  it  a  story  of  every -day 
occurrence,  God  forbid  it  were !  As  it  is  almost  the 
time  for  which  I  ordered  supper,  I  will  make  my 
narrative  as  brief  as  possible.  That  will  do,  Jan." 
The  major-domo  had  been  putting  fresh  coals  on  the 
fire,  which  operation  was  accompanied,  as  usual, 
l»y  a  most  tremendous  clatter.  "  Now  go  down,  and 
toll  Betty  to  serve  supper  in  half  an  hour." 

"  Yah,  madam  I"  and  Jan  vanished,  very  slowly 
though,  as  Bertha  and  Alice  remarked  one  to  the 
olher. 

"  The  young  girl,  my  dear  Bertha,  whose  pictured 


^'^ 


■',  "I- 


.  ■•  if 
.■*  ■■  '  -(•'■ 


■iK 


'T^  ■  :    t.'.r    '■ 


'I 


■/— 


if!;,': 


lljiil-:'^ 


C-  ;H 


i^'i^L^- 


'Mm 


■ .  .V 

■■.■        '■  ' 


fill 


262 


OLD    AND    NEW  :    OR, 


semblance  has,  you  say,  attracted  your  attention 
and  excited  your  curiosity,  was,  at  one  time,  the 
heiress  apparent  of  this  house  with  all  its  ap- 
purtenances. She  was  the  niece  of  Wolfred  Von 
Wiegel,  your  great  uncle,  and  her  name  was  Ulrica 
De  Menzel.  She  was  an  orphan  of  noble  descent 
on  the  paternal  as  well  as  maternal  side — her  mo- 
ther was  Adelaide  Von  Wiegel,  the  only  sister  of 
Wolfred,  and,  of  course,  your  great-aunt,  Bertha ! 
Now  it  so  happened  that  this  young  lady  had  a 
lover  who  followed  her  from  Deutchland,  and, 
though  barely  tolerated  by  her  uncle  or  his  wife 
(they  were  a  childless  old  couple  at  the  time)  con- 
trived to  keep  himself  on  a  footing  of  intimacy  in 
the  family,  owing  to  the  nervous  fears  entertained 
by  the  uncle  and  aunt  that  any  positive  insult  to 
him  would  be  resented  by  their  spoiled  darling  as 
worse  than  a  perso:?"!  affront  to  herself.  Indeed 
the  young  man — his  name  was  Otto  Lehman — was 
so  amiable  and  so  accomplished  that  his  evident 
poverty  was  the  sole  pretext  the  old  couple  could 
possibly  advance  for  denying  him  their  countenance 
—or  what  they  considered  of  far  more  importance — 
Ulrica's  presence,  which  they  saw  clearly  was  to 
him  the  sun  of  life  and  the  blossom  of  hope.  Inde- 
pendent of  his  poverty,  however,  there  was  another 
objection  to  Meinheer  Otto,  which  rendered  him 
■till  less  acceptable  to  the  vrorshipful  Wolfred  and 
his  stately  old  wife:  he  was  not  a  Catholic,  and,  worse 
■till,  he  was  nothing,  as  regarded  religion.     He  was 


m 


ition 
;,  the 
J   ap- 
Von 
Jlrica 
3cent 
r  mo- 
er  of 
Mtha ! 
had  a 
,  and, 
8  wile 
3)  con- 
lacy  ill 
•tained 
suit  to 
ling  a8 
[ndeed 
I — was 
ftvidont 
could 
lenance 
lance — 
kas  to 
Inde- 
inother 
}d  him 
;d  and 
worse 
lie  was 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION 


263 


a  fair  specimen  of  those  dreamy  German  rationalists 
who  resolve  all  religion  into  the  coldest  and  most 
visionary  abstract,  not  even  the  shadow  of  a  shade. 
Unluckily  he  had  succeeded  in  tranfusing  some  of  his 
own  wild  theories  into  Ulrica's  brain,  which  was,  of 
itself,  somewhat  tinctured  with  a  morbid  fancy  foi 
the  unreal.  The  girl  was  fair,  as  you  may  perceivti 
from  her  portrait,  and,  being  the  reputed  heiress 
of  the  Von  Wiegel  property,  suitors  for  her  hand 
were  not  wanting.  One  of  these,  a  young  English- 
man, a  merchant  of  high  standing  in  New  Amster- 
dam (as  our  good  city  was  then  called),  was  formally 
received  by  the  old  couple  as  the  future  husband  of 
Ulrica,  on  whom  they  laid  their  commands  to  smile 
graciously  on  his  suit,  under  pain  of  forfeiting  all 
right  to  their  inheritance,  and  being  sent  back  to  her 
dismantled  castle  by  the  Rhine,  there  to  dwell  with 
owls  and  bats  amid  the  dreary  shadows  of  broken 
walls,  and  the  drearier  shadows  of  departed  ages. 
Awed  by  this  threat,  it  was  supposed,  Ulrica  clia 
Bmile  on  the  fair-haired  Briton,  gave  her  uncle  and 
aunt  to  understand  that  she  would  soon  consent  to 
become  a  wife,  and  Otto  came  no  more." 

"  Dear  me,  Madam  Von  Wiegel !"  cried  Alice 
Murray,  "  did  she  give  him  up  ?" 

"  No.  no,"  said  Bertha  with  striking  emphasis,  "I 
know  she  could  not — dare  not  give  him  up  !'* 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  smiled  sadly  and  went  on ; 
"  Easter  time  came  round,  and  her  aunt  would  have 
had  Ulricn  go  to  confession  and  make  her  pascbsj 


*r 


t:i 


t- ' 


■    -III 


4 


'^i'ii 


X 


^■'^f  «. 


M  . 


264 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


,■>!. 


,'  M 


communion — she  excused  herself  on  one  pretence  of 
another  till  the  great  festival  was  past — on  Easter 
Tuesday  morning  she  was  missing  from  the  break- 
fast-table— after  waiting  awhile,  her  alarmed  relatives 
had  her  room-door  forced — she  was  not  there — the 
house  was  searched  with  no  better  success,  but  it 
chanced  that  the  library  was  overlooked.  Towards 
evening,  Wolfred  Von  Wiegel  went  thither  to  pray 
that  some  light  might  be  thrown  on  the  cause  of 
Ulrica's  mysterious  disappearance,  and  lo  !  in  a  high- 
backed  arm-chair  near  one  of  the  windows  sat  his 
orphan  niece — dead  and  cold  as  a  block  of  marble. 
A  smile  was  on  her  face,  a  cold,  ghastly  smile,  and  a 
miniature  was  clasped  in  her  death-clenched  hands — 
it  was  that  of  Otto  Lehman !  On  a  small  table  near 
lay  an  unsealed  note,  containing  only  a  few  faintly - 
traced  lines,  which  read  as  follows  :  '  I  said  I  would 
soon  consent  to  become  a  wife — I  have  kept  my 
word,  as  I  meant  it — Otto  and  I  plighted  our  faith 
to  each  other  this  night — here  in  this  very  room, — 
while  night's  dark  mantle  covered  the  earth ;  and  the 
light  of  the  tomb  was  our  star  of  love.  Apart  we 
could  not  live,  togetlter  the  fates  forbade — seek  to 
know  no  more.  This,  however,  you  mvM  know,  for 
if  I  played  the  hypocrite  during  life,  death  shall  ex- 
pose the  truth  !  I  never  was  a  Catholic — I  never  uai 
a  Christian,  at  least  in  your  sense, — the  great  unseen 
was  my  deity — the  mighty  spirit  of  the  Universe,  of 
which  my  own  soul  is  a  part — Otto  was  the  incarna- 
tion of  that  sublime  idea — he  was  the  genius  of  mj/ 


!^>"f 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


265 


(kte,— call  it  good  or  evil, — as  I  was  of  his.    No 
more  for  time  or  eternity  of  her  who  was 

Ulrica.'  " 

"  Merciful  Providence,  what  a  death  !"  cried  Ber- 
tha, pale  with  horror.  "  Mother,  knowing  all  this, 
how  can  you  keep  the  unhappy  girl's  picture  in  our 
library  ?" 

"  It  has  hung  there  so  long,  my  dear,  as  a  family 
portrait,  that  I,  not  being  a  Von  Wiegel  myself, 
would  feel  a  certain  reluctance  in  having  it  removed. 
For  myself  I  never  look  at  it  without  a  shudder — 
yet  still  the  sight  of  it  coiweys  a  solemn  lesson  on 
the  priceless  value  oi  faith ^  the  happiness  of  leading 
a  Christian  life,  and  the  danger  of  giving  the  rein  to 
human  reason,  without  the  guidance  of  divine  faith." 

"  But,  dear  me,  Madam  Von  Wiegel !"  exclaimed 
Alice  Murray,  "  what  became  of  the  genius  ?  was  he 
ever  found,  dead  or  alive  ?" 

"Or  was  he  accountable  for  the  lady's  death?" 
asked  her  father. 

"  That  I  know  not,  Mr.  Murray,  but  I  have  heard 
my  dear  husband  say  that  a  young  man  answering 
tlie  description  of  Otto  Lehman  made  his  appear- 
ance a  year  or  so  after  in  the  old  castle  of  Ulrica's 
family,  amongst  the  vine-clad  hills  by  the  Rhine, 
where  he  had  been  employed  years  before  in  teach- 
ing the  young  daughter  of  that  impoverished  house, 
the  polite  leai'ning  of  the  age.  There  he  lived 
a  lonely  man,  shunning  and  shunned,  practising 
nccult  and  forbidden  ai'ts  as  the  simple  Khenisb 


■V     \''  "■  ■:•• 


M 


'■'I 


;r ;;  .• 


\ 


M  4 


.^if . 


>>t 


(,,' 


•'1 


.'•■  ■'. 


266 


OLD    AND    NEW  *,    OR, 


peasants  believed,  and  there,  after  a  few  years,  he 
was  found  in  a  dying  state,  already  speechless,  by 
Bome  wild  fellows  who  had  made  a  bet  with  tlieir 
coinj^anions  that  they  would  pay  the  conjurer,  an 
they  called  him,  a  visit  in  his  den." 

"  Supper  on  the  table,  madam!"  said  ^ an,  open- 
ing the  door. 

"  Upon  my  hor.or,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr. 
Murray,  rising  with  alacrity,  and  offering  his  arm 
to  the  old  lajy;  "that  story  of  yours  has  all  bul 
given  me  a  fit  of  the  ague." 


'il, :":  ■'  ■  ■.^-:*'' 


m 

m 


*    '  ft 

,  ■  ^    .  * 

1 

"i    ■,  - 

pi: 
'  » 

.  i, 

tASTB   VERSUS   FASHION. 


267 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


i  *'  • 


aH    astounding    discovery — AND    A    WEDDINO. 

About  a  montb  or  so  after  the  fire  at  Henry  Hack- 
ett's,  when  Michael  and  his  father  were  busily  en- 
gaged "  putting  things  to  rights"  in  their  new  store, 
who  should  drop  in  one  evening  but  John  McCo- 
noghy.  It  was  not  his  first  visit  since  Henry's  great 
misfortune,  for  he  had  been  an  active  and  efficient 
friend  during  the  dreary  days  immediately  following 
the  disaster,  but  on  this  particular  occasion  ht 
seemed  in  such  remarkably  good  humor — so  exube? 
antly  happy,  as  it  were,  that  Henry  Hackett  coulc* 
not  choose  but  notice  it.  The  first  thing  John  die 
on  entering  the  shop  was  to  shake  hands,  and  sucV 
a  shake,  with  Michael,  across  the  counter,  with  the 
highly-appreciative  remark  that  he  (Mike)  was  a 
regular  trump,  and  no  mistake!  Michael  smiled 
knowingly,  and  nodded  sagaciously,  but  said  noth 
ing,  as  there  were  some  persons  in  the  store  at  the 
time.  When  they  were  served  and  gone,  Henry 
said  with  his  quiet  inward  laugh ! 

"  Well,  Mr.  McConoghy  !  what's  on  foot  now  ? 
I  see  you're  as  merry  as  a  cricket." 

"  And  why  wouldn't  I  be  merry,  Mr.  Hackett  ? 
And  what's  more,  you'W  be  merry,  too,  (for  all  that's 
come  across  you,)  when  I  tell  you.     And,  indeed 


'■'  .f. 


■     '.4.    .»> 


,  ■i' 


■.•■'  i 


v]ff' 


'•'  -^'^ 

:^r*r"! 

-  :"S'i'-' 

•.fj  ■•, 

.ItFM'JSi 

Kii     ■ 

m* 

fe 

'«•'  *  •■, 

t.  * 

V   •••:     , 

"il'ii- 

'      t-' 

rJ 

>ii 


>.' 


1 


'A 

4  m..«i 


268 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


yen  have  a  right  to  be  well  pleased,  for  that  son  of 
yours  is  one  of  the  cutest  and  brightest  chaps  of  his 
age  in  New  York  City." 

"I'm  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  McConoghy,  for  your 
good  word  of  Michael,"  said  the  fond  father  with 
much  and  very  natural  complacency ;  "  the  boy's 
well  enough,  thanks  be  to  God,  and  to  tell  the  trutli 
of  him,  he's  a  good,  obedient  child  as  any  father 
need  wish  to  have.     But  what's  your  news  ?" 

"  Have  you  been  to  Taylor's  ?"  said  Michael  with 
a  waggish  look  from  under  his  brows. 

"Have  I?  I  guess  I  have,  Mike!  though  the 
ladies  didn't  know  I  was  there  till  I  chose  to  bring 
myself  under  their  notice — when  it  suited  myself. 
Ha  !  ha !  ha  !'* 

"  Well !  don't  you  want  to  hear  the  secret  now  ?" 

"  Secret ! — ah !  you  young — I  don*t  know  what  to 
call  you,  for  I  wouldn't  like  to  call  you  anything 
bad,"  and  he  shook  his  fist  good-humoredly  at  Mike, 
who  was  looking  as  demure  as  an  owl.  "  The  secret's 
no  secret  now,  and  it's  all  up  with  them  you  knmr. 
I'll  go  bail  they'll  keep  clear  of  66  for  the  time  to 
come." 

''Well !  but  how  was  i"? — how  did  you  manage?' 
inquired  Michael. 

"For  goodness'  sake,  what  is  it?"  exclaimed  his  f;i- 
ther,  "  whatever  it  is,  you  have  it  all  to  yourselves.'' 

"Never  mind,  Henry,  never  mind!  we'll  not  bo 
long  so.     Husht !  here  are  people  coming  in.'* 

"Better  wait,'*  said   Henry,  "till  we  close  tba 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


209 


Btore — it  won*t  be  long,  now,  and  then  you  can 
come  up-stairs  and  smoke  a  cigar." 

*'  Agreed  1"  said  McCoiioghy,  taking  his  seat  on 
a  large  tea-chest  that  stood  near. 

The  store  being  closed,  our  trio  adjourned,  as  per 
resolution,  to  the  sitting-room  on  the  floor  above 
where  the  three  sisters  were  variously  engaged, 
Sarah  with  her  stocking-basket  beside  her,  darning 
woollen  socks,  Ann  reading  a  suspicious-looking 
book  with  a  flaunting  yellow  cover,  whilst  Mary 
was  playing  over,  or  trying  to  play,  the  last  new 
Polka. 

The  young  ladies  last  named  were  terribly  "  put 
out"  by  the  presence  of  the  stocking-basket  afore- 
said, and  one  of  them  made  a  sign  to  the  other  to 
remove  it  presto,  prestissimo !  To  this  Sarah  would 
by  no  means  consent,  quietly  laying  her  hand  on 
the  obnoxious  article,  and  telling  Ann  in  a  low 
voice  that  she  thought  no  shame  of  its  being  where 
it  was. 

After  the  necessary  inquiries  relative  to  health, 
and  the  customary  observations  on  the  state  of 
the  weather,  a  momentary  silence  ensued.  Heciry 
Hackett,  supposing  that  McConoghy  might  not 
care  to  speak  out  before  the  girls,  told  them  to 
leave  the  room  for  a  little  while  for  that  he  aad  Mr. 
McConoghy  had  a  word  to  say  in  private. 

"If  it's  on  account  of  what  I'm  going  to  tell  you," 
Baid  the  latter  gentleman,  "  there's  no  occasion  for 
them  to  go — I'd  as  soon  they'd  hear  it  as  not." 


w 


i^' 


■t- 


«ii 


m 

.1   > 

t 

:  ■■■"               .r'  '- 

-   i   '  . 

'■'  ■■J  *^   f-^':, 


»  V    .    : 


S70 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;     OB, 


This  intimation  of  a  secret  being  in  the  wind 
placed  the  young  ladies  on  the  alert,  and  they  all 
fixed  their  eyes  on  John 's  good-looking  face  with 
an  expression  of  eager  curiosity. 

"  Well !"  said  McConoghy,  not  at  all  insensible  to 
the  importance  of  his  position  as  a  narrator,  and 
clearing  his  throat  vigorously  once  or  twice,  "  well ! 
you  remember,  Michael !  you  laid  it  on  me  as  an  ob- 
ligation to  take  the  Miss  Gallaghers — or  have  them 
taken — to  Taylor's  Saloon,  some  evening.  At  the 
time  I  had  little  hopes  that  I'd  be  able  to  succeed, 
for  I  wouldn't  on  any  account  ask  them  myself; 
howsomever,  I  said  to  myself,  faint  heart  never  won 
fair  lady,  so  I'll  see  what  can  be  done.  I  turned  it 
over  and  over  in  my  mind  a  good  many  times,  but 
I  could  see  no  other  way  of  working  the  packet  ex- 
cept to  tell  Tom  right  straight  out  how  the  matter 
stood.  I  did  so,  and  I  declare  to  you  he  jumped  at 
it  like  a  fish  at  a  bait — he  was  so  tickled  at  the  no- 
tion of  tricking  the  wife  and  daughters,  though  he 
knew  no  more  than  I  did  myself  v/hat  dog  was  in 
the  well.  We  both  agreed  that  it  was  best  for  rae 
to  keep  out  of  sight,  but  be  near  at  hand  till  we'd 
see  how  the  joke  went.  Well !  one  evening  after 
tea,  Tom  says  to  his  wife,  as  innocently  as  could  be; 
*  What  do  you  think,  Ellen,  if  you  and  the  girls 
would  come  out  for  a  walk,  as  the  night's  fine  ?'  At 
first,  the  proposal  was  not  very  graciously  received ; 
the  girls  murmured  among  themselves,  and  raado 
rry  faces  behind  the  parental  backs.  They  had  about 


*■ ,  ■ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASniOX. 


271 


At 

jived ; 
rnacla 
about 


mado  up  their  minds  (or  rather  guessed  they  had) 
that  it  wasn't  worth  the  trouble  of  dressing  'just  to 
go  out  for  a  walk  with  pa  and  ma,*  but  their  mother, 
I  suppose,  thinking  the  walk  might  lead  to  some  de- 
sirable purchases,  gave  them  the  wink,  and  forth- 
with they  were  all  unanimous  in  accepting  the  invi- 
tation. Tom  knowing  right  well  the  answer  he'd 
get,  asked  them  at  the  door  where  they'd  like  to  go 
to — 'Oh!  where  but  to  Broadway?'  says  one,  and 
*  where  but  to  Broadway  ?'  says  another,  and,  to  be 
sure,  the  ladies  were  all  for  Broadway  ;  so  over  to 
Broadway  we  went — the  Gallagher's  ahead,  and  my- 
self some  yards  behind — and  down  Broadway  we 
marched  in  the  same  order,  till  we — or  rather  they — 
got  to  Taylor*8  Saloon,  at  the  corner  of  P^ranklin 
street,  and,  to  be  sure,  Tom  would  have  '  Ellen  and 
the  girls'  go  ii:  and  rest  themselves  and  have  some 
refreshment,  anl,  to  be  sure,  they  jumped  at  the 
offer,  and  in  they  went,  and  in  I  went  after  them, 
and  squeezed  myoeli  into  a  corner  where  tkci/  couldn't 
see  me  (though  I  could  see  them)  on  account  of  a 
big,  brawny  Western  Hoosierthat  I  managed  to  have 
between  me  and  the  ladies.  You  may  be  sure  I  had 
my  eye  on  them,  wondering  all  the  time  what  the 
Jeuce  Michael  Haokett  could  have  sent  us  there  for. 
While  I  was  cudgelling  my  brains  about  that  a 
»^mart  young  waiter  came  to  the  table  where  I  sat 
with  some  ice-cream  for  my  Western  neighbor,  and  I 
could  scarce  keep  from  crying  out  in  surprise,  when 
hiR  eyes  and  mine  met  -  amazing  d'«"-overy !     I  saw 


'^ 


4   .   »• 


yt 


'    •i-'A^ 


.  r   ^     '»fe' 


\  ■•?*■  •'' 


272 


OLD    AND    NEW  1    OR. 


before  me  the  highly-esteemed  Mr.  Green,  who 
seemed  anything  at  all  but  pleased  at  the  meeting, 
and  made  his  exit  in  what  soldiers  call  double-quick 
time.  But  alas  !  the  Gallagher  family  had  seen  him, 
too,  and  I  could  hear  Elbe's  voice  quite  plain  :  '  Ma  I 
for  pity's  sake  look  there  !'  I  was  sorry  for  her  ii 
one  way,  but  in  another,  I  was  not,  for  I  knew  it 
was  all  her  own  fault — so  I  thought  I'd  have  n/y 
share  of  the  fun,  and  over  I  went  to  where  they  were 
sitting,  and  down  I  sat  myself,  right  opposite  Tom, 
and  asked  the  ladies  if  they  wouldn't  have  something. 
No,  they  thanked  me,  they  had  had  some  ice  sream 
and  didn't  wish  anything  more,  and  I  could  see  they 
were  v/ishing  me  anywhere  else  but  where  I  was — 
Tom  and  myself  had  our  own  fun  of  it,  I  tell  you, 
watching  the  nervous  tremor  that  the  ladies  were  in 
for  fear  the  Green  Knight  might  make  his  appear- 
ance in  their  vicinity.  While  they  were  straining 
their  eyes  looking  for  hi??i,  up  comes  another  gentle- 
man to  the  next  table,  in  white  apron  and  round 
jacket,  with  a  towel  under  his  arm,  and  in  his  hands 
a  tray,  on  which  were  tastefully  arranged  two  mugs 
of  the  universal  lager,  two  plates  of  oyster  stew,  two 
ice-creams  (as  the  waiters  say),  and  a  large  plate  of 
cake.  But  it  wasn't  the  odd  mixture  of  eatables 
and  drinkables  on  the  tray  that  attracted  my  eyes, 
or  Tom  Gallagher's  either,  and  I  guess  it  wasn't  onr 
eyes  that  made  the  gentleman  in  the  white  apron 
blush  like  a  full-blown  peony,  and  come  as  near  drop* 
ping  tray  and  all  and  taking  to  his  heels,  as  a  body 


\^1^ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


273 


could  without  actually  doing  it.  I  hoard  Miss  Ellie 
on  one  side  and  Miss  Mag  on  the  o' her,  giving  a 
groan  that  you'd  think  was  out  of  a  pit,  and  Misa 
Gallagher  said,  loud  enough  to  be  heard  all  round  : 

*  Why,  ma!  I  declare  if  that  a'nt  Mr.  Brown  ! — Mag, 
■why  don't  you  speak  to  him'?'  'Oh!  you  hard- 
hearted thing  !*  said  Miss  Mag  between  her  teeth, 

*  if  /  dou*t  be  even  with  you  for  tbu^ !' — '  I  guess  we'd 

best  be  going  !'  said  Mrs.  Gallagher  putting  on  her 

gloves,  and  the  girls  all  made  a  move,  except  Fanny, 

who,  it  was  plain,  enjoyed  the  fun  amazingly,  and 

thought,  if  she  did  not  say  it : 

"  '  'Twill  nebber  do  to  gib  it  up  so,  Mr.  Brown, 
'Twill  nebber  do  to  gib  it  up  so.' 

* 

*  Why,  what's  come  over  you  all  ?'  says  Tom, 
winking  at  me ;  '  why  don't  you  finish  your  ice- 
cream ? — it's  paid  for  now,  and  there's  no  u  e  leaving 
it  after  you  ?'  '  Of  course,  pa,  we  must  finish  it,' 
said  Fanny ;  '  why  you're  taking  nothing,  Mr. 
MoConoghy  I'  says  she,  the  next  word,  turning  to 
myself,  and  T  p^^test  I  was  most  struck  dumb  with 
surprise,  for,  to  ti.e  best  of  my  knowledge,  it  was 
the  first  civil  ^ord  Miss  Gallagher  ever  spoke  to  me 
—I  managed  to  find  voice,  howsomevor,  to  tell  her 
that  I  had  taken  all  I  wanted  before  I  happened  to 
get  sight  of  them,  but  was  entirely  obliged  to  her 
for  asking.  '  Get  up  this  minute,'  said  the  mother 
across  the  table  to  Fanny,  in  a  low  voice,  '  don't 
you  see  myself  and  the  others  are  ready  to  go,  and 

t's  just  working  contradiction  you  are.     Get  up,  I 


*■'  '.»♦»  ■ 


^^Wrnrn^ 


271 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


:l'|. 


say!  Tom!  what  are  you  about?'  Tin  about 
moving,  Ellen  i  come  along  now !'  '  My  goodness 
ma  !*  said  Fanny  in  a  loud  whisper,  as  we  all  stood 
up  to  go,  *  wouldn't  Mag  and  Ellie  like  to  say  good- 
bye  before  they  go  ? — it's  cruel  to  take  them  ofl*  so — 
a'nt  it,  pa  ?  a'nt  it,  Mr.  McConoghy  ?'  The  last- 
named  individual  was  so  overpowered  by  this  se- 
cond honor  conferred  on  him  that  he  hardly  knew 
which  end  of  him  was  uppermost,  and  can't  for  the 
life  of  him  tell  wiiat  anrvver  he  made,  or  whether  ho 
made  any.  I  rather  think  the  Miss  Gallaghers, 
especially  Etlie  and  Mag,  could  not  give  any  better 
account  as  to  how  they  got  to  the  door,  for  thej 
looked  as  if  they  thought  every  eye  in  the  room  was 
on  them  (and  that  was  a  good  many) — they  weren't, 
though,  for  every  one  there  was  too  busy,  either 
eating  and  drinking  or  picking  their  teeth,  to  pay 
much  attention  to  what  was  going  on  elsewhere, 
and  besides  no  one  knew,  probably,  or  even  guessed, 
except  ourselves,  that  there  was  such  a  nice  little 
secret  connected  with  two  of  the  very  nice  young 
men  who  were  comforting  their  inward  men  (and 
w^omen)  with  i^er  6ier  and  all  lh.Q  etcetera;.  Even 
if  they  had  suimised  what  a  serious  hoax  had  been 
played  on  the  Gallagher  family,  they  might  not  have 
been  so  much  surprised  as  the  inhabitants  of  more 
old-fashioned  cities  would  have  been,  for  such  things 
are  too  common  in  our  fashionable  society  to  make 
jmy  great  sensation." 

Mr.  McConoghy  paused  to  take  breath,  and,  pro* 


^  ■ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOX. 


275 


bably,  to  allow  his  auditors  to  indulge  their  merri- 
ineiit,  if  they  felt  inclined  thereto. 

'*  Well !  well !"  said  Henry  Hackett,  holding  up 
Ills  hands  in  admiration,  "  we  needn't  wonder  at  any- 
thing we  hear  after  that !" 

"  And  that's  what  they  found  my  gentlemen  at !" 
cried  Ann.  "  Waiters  in  a  saloon — my !  Fm  so 
glad!"  echoed  Mary.  ''What  an  impudent  pair  of 
fellows !"  said  Sarah,  "  I'm  real  sorry  for  the  Gal- 
laghers— they  were  so  kind  to  us  in  our  trouble! 
How  bad  they  must  feel  to  be  taken  in  so  !" 

"  Well !"  said  Michael,  with  sly  meaning,  "  what  do 
you  think  of  the  fool's  errand  now,  Mr.  McConoghy  ?'* 

"Think,  Michael?  what  do  I  think  of  it?— why 
I  think  this,  that  you're  a  great  little  fellow  all  out — 
and  to  show  you  how  well  pleased  I  was  at  the 
come-down  you  were  the  means  of  giving  the  ladies' 
foolioh  pride  I  went  into  a  store  in  Broadway  before 
ever  I  got  home  and  bought  you  this — I  know 
you're  fond  of  books!"  And  so  saying  he  handed 
Michael  a  History  of  the  War  of  Independence,  the 
Bight  of  which  made  Michael's  eyes  sparkle,  for  such 
books  came  rarely  into  his  possession.  His  father 
was  as  much  delighted  as  himself,  but  they  both  said 
it  was  too  much  for  Mr.  McConoghy  to  give  or 
Michael  to  take.  Their  grateful  apologies  were  cut 
short  by  John. 

"Don't  mention  it,  now,  don't,  I  beg  of  ycr,  Mr. 
Hackett!  - 1  have  taken  a  liking  to  Michael,  and  if 
I  live  and  get  along  as  well  as  I'm  doing,  I'll  give 


rm 


1* 


•  '■C 


276 


OLD    ANn    NEW  ;    OR, 


t 


mm. 


him  a  lift  that  will  serve  him — I  can  tell  you  Tom 
Gallagher  is  almost  as  thankful  to  you  as  I  am, 
Michael,  and  he'll  tell  you  so  himself.  But  where 
was  I  In  my  story — or  did  I  tell  it  all  ?" 

"  No,  no,  you  did  not  tell  us  what  they  all  said 
when  they  got  out " 

"  Oh  !  that's  easy  told ;  Fanny  burst  out  laughing, 
and  began  to  repeat  poetry  for  them  :* 

"  '  I  saw  him,  Lucy,  only  once,  as  down  the  lighted  hall, 
We  moved  to  music  playfully,  a  stranger  to  us  all ; 
A  stranger  with  a  pale  white  brow,  and  dark  and  meaning 

eye, 
Which  flash'd  like  lightning  on  my  own,  whene'er  he  passed 
me  by. 

•' '  He  press'd  my  hand  at  parting,  and  to-night  he  will  be  here. 
While  pa  is  at  his  game  of  chess,  and  ma  is  nowhere  near ; 
Excuse  me,  dearest  Lucy,  now  indeed  I  cannot  write, 
To-morrow  I  will  tell  you  more,  he  will  be  here  to  nighl. 

PS. 

"  'Oh!  dearest  Lucy,  pity  me,  I  really  think  I'm  dying, 
My  heart  is  like  a  heart  of  lead — my  eyes  are  red  v\Uh 

crying ; 
But  yesterday  the  bank  was  robbed,  and  of  a  large  amonnf , 
My  father  caught  the  robber,  and,  oh  mercy  ! — 'twas  niif 

Count r 

*'  Fanny  kept  talking  on  in  the  same  strain  all 
the  way  home,  to  the  great  amusement  of  her  father 
though  he  didn't  venture  to  laugh  out,  and  her  mo- 

*  I  will  not  vouch  for  Ih-^  fidelity  of  Mr.  McConoghy's  me- 
mory on  this  notable  occasion.  I  therefore  supply  any  por 
iible  deficiency  on  his  part. 


^ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


2n 


tber  having  a  pretty  good  idea  that  she  was  some- 
where in  the  same  boat  with  Mag  and  Ellie,  kept 
^ery  quiet,  and  just  let  Fanny  say  what  she  luid  to 
Bay,  though  at  another  time  she'd  have  put  a  stop- 
per on  her  mouth  pretty  quick.  'And,  to  be  snro, 
we  must  have  a  party  for  them  !'  said  Fanny,  in  « 
voice  loud  enough  to  reach  the  ears  for  which  it  was 
meant,  if  not  of  the  passers-by.  'And  we  must  go 
to  the  opera  with  them,  and  post  ourselves  in  a  front 
box,  too  !  for  fear  we  mightn't  be  seen  with  our 
stylish  American-looking  beaux  /'  Flesh  and  blood 
couldn*t  bear  this,  so  Mag  and  Ellie  turned  on  their 
unsympathizing  sister,  who  was  declared  by  her 
mother  a  Job's  comforter.  '  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is, 
now,  my  good  lady !'  said  the  high-mettled  Mag  in 
a  decidedly  menacing  tone,  '  you've  gone  about  far 
enough  for  this,  time — you'd  best  not  provoke  me 
any  farther !'  '  She  may  talk  now,'  said  Ellie,  '  when 
things  have  turned  out  so  different  from  what  they 
had  ought  to,  but  she'd  have  set  her  cap  at  Green 
or  Brown  as  soon  as  any  of  us,  only  she  didn't  hap- 
pen to  take  their  fancy — ahem  !'  This  was  the  last 
/heard  of  it,"  proceeded  John,  "for,  as  I  told  you, 
I  left  them  on  Broadway  and  went  in  to  get  the 
book  for  Michael.  I  forgot  to  tell  you,  though,  that 
if  i  didn't  go  home  with  the  Gallagher  family  it 
wasn't  for  want  of  a  very  warm  invitation,  not  only 
from  my  friend  Tom  but  from  Miss  Fanny  herself, 
but  I  thanked  them  kindly  and  bid  them  good-night, 
The  truth  is,  Mr.  Hacketi,  that  I  have  seen  too 


27S 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


niuoh  of  the  young  ladies,  and  I  begin  to  think 
that  Miss  Fanny,  being  a  very  splendid  indivi- 
dual, wouldn't  answer  for  a  plain  man  like  John 
McConoghy  to  jog  through  life  with." 

Whether  by  accident  or  design,  Mr.  McConoghy'a 
full,  clear  eyes  rested  on  Sarah  as  he  thus  wound  up 
his  narration,  but  Sarah  either  was,  or  appeared  to 
be,  too  intent  on  what  she  was  doing  to  take  any 
particular  notice  of  what, direction  his  eyes  took. 

The  two  younger  sisters,  and  even  Michael  in  his 
own  peculiar  way,  made  quite  merry  over  the  fall 
of  the  splendid  castle  which  the  Gallagher  girls  had 
been  building  in  the  air,  and  John  McConoghy 
quite  won  their  hearts  by  the  active  part  he  had 
taken  in  demolishing  the  ferial  edifice.  Mr.  McCo- 
noghy, on  the  other  hand,  seemed  to  feel  himself 
quite  at  home,  and  by  the  time  he  had  taken  a  glass 
or  two  of  punch,  the  spirit  of  which,  as  Mr.  Hackett 
assured  him,  was  genuine  Irish  whiskey,  his  heart 
expanded  after  the  manner  of  Irish  hearts  under 
such  genial  influence,  and  he  drew  his  chair  over  to 
Sarah  and  began  to  compliment  her,  first,  on  her 
industry,  next,  on  her  good  looks,  and  finally,  on 
the  possibility  of  her  being  a  fit  and  proper  person 
to  take  upon  her  the  style  and  dignity  of  Mrs.  John 
McConoghy. 

Sarah  blushed  and  smiled,  but  there  was  no  em- 
barrassment or  emotion  of  any  kind  in  her  voice  or 
manner  as  she  listened  to  this  '*  flattering  tale'*  told 
not  by  hope  but  by  John  McConoghy.     Then  sbo 


TASTE    VERSl  4    FASHION. 


279 


mannged  to  put  ic  off  with  a  laugh,  as  though  giving 
it  for  a  joke,  and  so  she  said  laughing: 

"  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  McConoghy  !  for 
your  good  opinion,  but  as  for  the  other  matter,  1 
hope  you  don't  despair  of  Miss  Fanny.  I  think 
you're  just  on  the  high  road  to  success  in  that 
quarter." 

Mr.  McConoghy,  in  reply,  protested  with  marked 
energy  and  determination  that  a  ring  he'd  never  put 
on  a  Gallagher's  finger,  unless  his  mind  changed, 
which  he  did  not  think  it  would. 

He  soon  after  took  his  leave,  and  then  the  girls 
began  to  teaze  Sarah  on  her  new  admirer,  whom 
they  declared  "  not  half  so  bad  as  they  used  to  think 
him." 

Saraii  smi'ed  and  suffered  them  to  nm  on  ti!l  they 
had  exhausted  their  topic,  then  they  began  to  yawn 
in  concert  (as  people  generally  do),  and  their  father 
told  them  they  had  better  go  to  bed  and  be  up 
early.  The  latter  suggestion  was  evidently  not 
much  to  their  liking,  but  the  former  they  adopted 
and  carried  out  immediately.  They  asked  Sarah 
wouldn't  they  wait  for  her,  but  she  said  it  would 
keep  them  too  long,  as  she  had  a  good  deal  to  do  yet. 

When  the  younger  sisters  had  retired,  Henry 
Hackett  sat  a  few  moments  silent  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  vacancy,  then  all  at  once  starting  from  his 
reverie  addressed  his  daughter  as  follows* 

*'  Sarah,  I  think  Mr.  McConoghy  is  in  earnejst 
about  that,  though  you  passed  it  off  for  a  joke." 


;  4 


;^!f^  .; 


280 


OI,D    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"In  earnest  about  what,  father?"  asked  Sarah 
very  demurely. 

"  Come,  come  now,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do." 
•  Well  I  I  don't  know  that  I  do,  father  ! — do  yo9 
mean  about  Fanny  Gallagher  ?" 

"  No,  but  I  mean  about  Sarah  Hackett !" 

"  A'nt  she  a  sly  bit  of  goods,  father  ?"  said  Michael. 

"  Not  quite  so  sly  as  some  of  my  neighbors — eh, 
Michael?" 

"  Well !  but,  Sarah  dear,"  said  their  father, 
"  wouldn't  it  be  a  fine  match  for  you,  supposing 
he  was  in  earnest?" 

"  Perhaps  it    might,  father,   but    then "   she 

stopped,  and  looked  down  at  her  work. 

"  But  then  what  ? — have  you  any  objection  to 
him  ?'» 

"  I  can't  say  I  have " 

*' In  the  name  of  Goodness,  then,  why  do  you 
talk  as  if  vou  had  ?'* 

"  Maybe  she  has  a  notion  of  somebody  else,  father?" 
suggested  Michael  in  a  tone  half  jest  half  earnest. 

"  Nonsense,  Michael !  who  would  she  have  a  notion 
of?" 

"  Well,  that's  more  than  I  can  tell,"  said  Michael, 
"  but  I  know  one  that  has  a  notion  of  her — don't  T, 
Sarah  ?" 

Sarah  dropped  her  work,  and  looked  Michael 
steadily  m  the  face,  her  cheek  dyed  scarlet.  The 
arch  intelligence  of  Michael's  smiling  glance  put  hor 
ftll  in  a  tremor. 


iii' 

^L'''' 


<-A 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION, 


281 


"  See  there,  father  1"  said  the  droll  fellow,  point- 
ing to  his  sister's  burning  cheek,  "  didn't  I  tell 
you  ? — Sarah,  may  I  tell  father  who  it  is '?" 

"  Do,  Michael,"  said  his  father  who  began  to  feel 
rather  anxious  on  the  subject  of  Sarah's  agitation. 

"  Well,  silence  gives  consent,"  said  Michael,  "  so 
I  suppose  I  may  speak — it's  Edward  Fogarty,  fa- 
ther." Henry  Hackett  felt  quite  relieved,  and  the 
good-natured  smile  came  back  to  his  face — of  lato 
more  haggard  and  care-worn  than  its  wont. 

"  Fie  !  fie  i  Michael,"  stammered  his  sister,  rising 
as  if  to  put  away  her  work,  "  how  can  you  say  such 
a  thing  ?" 

"  How  can  I  say  it  ? — why,  because  I  know  it's 
true " 

"  And  how  do  you  know  it,  Michael  ?"  said  his 
father. 

"  He  knows  no  more  about  it  than  the  man  in  tli© 
moon — so  don't  mind  him,  father !"  put  in  Sarah. 

"  Well!  there's  no  saying  but  the  man  in  the 
moon  knows  something  about  it  too,"  said  the 
waggish  youth;  "they  say  lovers  do  take  him  inta 
their  confidence  at  times — whether  or  no  I  can't 
say,  but  I  know  I  have  it  from  Edward  Fogarty's 
own  lips  that  he  has  loved  our  Sarah  ever  since  the 
night  of  the  fire,  and  that  if  he  don't  have  her  for  a 
wife  he'll  never  have  any" 

"  Oh  !  you  shocking  bad  boy  !"  said  Sarah,  "  a*nt 
y-Qu  ashamed  to  talk  so  ?" 

"  Sarah  !"  said  Henry  Hackett  in  a  very  serioui 


..vi- 


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283 


OIJ)   AND   KEW  ;   OH, 


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tone :  "  Has  Edward  ever  spoken  to  you  on  the  sub 
ject  ? — i'm  in  earnest,  now,  and  1  expect  a  plain, 
slraiglitforward  answer.'* 

"  Well,  father !  when  you  put  a  question  to  me  in 
that  way,  I  must  tell  you  the  truth.  Edward  hai 
spoken  to  me  many  times  about — about — that 
matter." 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Sarah  looked  down  at  the  matting  on  the  floor, 
and  the  color  mounted  from  her  cheeks  to  her 
temples. 

"  I  think  you  needn't  ask,  father !"  said  Michael 
with  his  quiet  laugh,  "  her  face  tells  the  story,  and  I 
don't  think  her  tongue  will  tell  it  much  plainer.  At 
any  rate,  I'm  going  to  throw  myself  into  the  arms  of 
Morpheus.'* 

'*  Morpheus !  who  is  he,  Michael  ?"  asked  the  fa- 
ther, not  unwilling  to  give  Sarah  time  to  recover 
her  composure. 

"  Why,  the  god  of  sleep,  to  be  sure  !** 

"  The  god  of  sleep,  Michael !  dear  me !  I  didn't 
know  there  was  such  a  god  in  heathen  times.  1 
often  heard  of  Bacchus,  the  god  of  wine,  and  Venus, 
the  goddess  of  beauty " 

"  And  Cupid,  the  god  of  love,  father !"  put  in  Mi- 
chael with  a  sly  glance  at  Sarah. 

"  Oh !  to  be  sure,  and  Mars,  the  god  of  war " 

"And  Mercury,  the  god  of  thieves?" 

"  Why  no,  Mike,  no  I  I  never  heard  of  hinf- — do 
you  tell  me  there  was  a  god  of  thieves  ?" 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


283 


*'  And  to  be  sure  there  was ! — why  wouldn't  there 
be  a  god  of  rogues  and  roguery  as  well  as  a  god 
of  drunkenness,  and  a  goddess  of  unclean  vices? 
Don't  you  know  it  was  the  devil  they  were  all  wor« 
shipping  in  those  days,  and  how  could  he  be  better 
worshipped  than  under  the  names  of  the  seven  ca 
pital  sins  ?" 

"  I  declare,  Michael !  you're  doing  well  at  the 
classics  !"  said  his  father  with  a  fond  smile. 

"  Why,  of  course,  I  do  the  best  I  can,  if  it  was 
only  to  show  my  gratitude  to  the  dear  ladies  that 
are  giving  me  the  opportunity  of  advancing  myself. 
Every  time  I  go,  either  Miss  Von  Weigel  or  the  old 
Madam,  whichever  I  happen  to  see,  is  sure  to  ask 
me  how  I'm  getting  along  with  my  master." 

"  God  bless  them  every  day  they  rise  !"  said 
Henry,  taking  up  his  little  night-lamp,  "it  was  the 
lucky  day  for  us  all  that  they  came  to  know  you^ 
Michael ! — and  if  ever  you  get  forward  to  be  or- 
dained, it's  them,  afier  God,  you  may  thank  for  it." 

*'And  his  own  good  sense  and  good  talents,  fa- 
ther," said  Sarah  with  an  affectionate  glance  at  her 
'  brother,  "  only  the  ladies  saw  something  in  him 
past  the  common,  they'd  never  take  such  an  interest 
in  him,  or  pay  a  master  to  come  to  the  house  to 
teach  him." 

•'  Well !  after  that,  I  think  I  may  go,"  said  Michae! 
darting  out  of  the  room,  and  so  ended  the  conver« 
lation. 

It  was  not  many  days  after  that  when  Edward 


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284 


OLD    AND    NEW  i    OR, 


Fogarty,  the  second  son  of  William  H.,  came  to  ask 
Sarah  Hackett  in  marriage.  A  fine  young  fellow 
Edward  was — manly,  honest  and  independent,  with 
as  much  good  sense  in  his  well-formed  head 
as  would  furnish  half  a  dozen  fashionable  ninniea 
(commonly  called  coxconibs)  with  tJieir  allowance  of 
brains.  He  was  anxious  to  get  along  in  the  world, 
and  set  about  it  in  the  right  way,  having  gone  while 
a  mere  boy  into  a  merchant's  office  down  town,  and 
there  worked  his  way  upward,  till  he  now  enjoyed 
the  fullest  confidence  of  his  employers,  and  was 
chief  salesman  in  their  warehouse,  with  a  very  hand- 
some salary  in  possession,  and  a  junior  partnership 
in  perspective.  Sober,  steady,  intelligent,  and  most 
assiduous  in  the  discharge  of  his  duties,  Edward 
Fogarty  was  just  the  young  man  to  rise  in  any 
business  or  profession,  and  as  Henry  Hackett  told 
him  with  tears  of  joy  in  his  eyes : 

"  I  know  you're  a  good  son  and  a  good  brother, 
Edward !  and  Pm  sure  you'll  make  a  good  husband. 
If  I  was  looking  out  for  a  husband  for  my  dear 
Sarah,  I  couldn't  find  one  more  to  my  liking — and 
though  I'm  her  father,  I  must  say  for  Sarah  that 
she'll  make  you  a  good  tvife.  I  can  say  that  now, 
with  my  hand  on  my  heart,  but  I  couldn't  say  it  two 
years — or  even  one  year  ago !" 

'<I  know  all  that,  Mr.  Hackett!"  said  Edward 
with  a  frankness  that  well  became  him,  "  and  to  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  wouldn't  have  thought  of  Sarah  for 
a  wife  at  the  time  you  mention.    As  it  is,  I  know  het 


TASTE    VERSOS    FASHION. 


285 


.    i 


worth,  and  her  past  follies  ought  not  to  be  remem- 
bered. They  were  girlish  follies,  after  all,  and 
serve  by  contrast  to  enhance  the  sterling  virtues 
which  were  only  for  a  time  obscured.  But  you 
have  made  me  very,  very  happy,  Mr.  Hackett !  by 
giving  your  consent,  and  now  I  will  arrange  the  rest 
with  Sarah." 

"  But  your  father  and  mother,  Edward  !  have  you 
consulted  them  ?" 

"  Certainly  I  have,  Mr.  Hackett,  and  they  are 
much  pleased  with  my  choice.  Though  I  am  a 
young  American,"  he  added  laughing,  "I  am  not 
quite  so  young- Americanish  as  to  take  so  important 
a  step  without  consulting  my  parents,  and  having  their 
consent,  if  possible !  John  Smith  and  Fatfter  is  not 
the  order  of  things  in  our  family." 

"  Nor  you  don*t  honor  your  father  with  such  titles 
as  '  the  governor' — '  the  old  man,'  or  '  the  old  fellow* 
— nor  your  mother  as  *  the  old  woman,'  or  *  the  old 
dame?'"  Edward  shook  his  head  with  mock 
seriousness.  "Hut,  tut,  man!  you're  behind  the 
age  in  your  house — why  you're  regular  old  fogies 
in  there  I" 

"  Not  so  old  as  you  may  think,"  laughed  Edward 
"  we're  as  fond  of  amusement,  I  can  tell  you,  as  any 
family  in  the  city ;  the  only  difference  is,  that  toe 
enjoy  ourselves  better  when  we're  all  together, 
which,  I'm  sorry  to  say,  isn't  the  case  with  all 
families  in  New  York — even  of  our  own  acquaint- 
ance.    However,  they  have  their  ways  and  we  have 

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286 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


ours.  Well !  good-bye,  Mr.  Hackett !  I'll  see  Sarah 
some  time  this  evening." 

A  month  from  that  day,  Sarah  became  the  happy 
wile  of  Edward  Fogarty,  but  the  wedding  was  verj 
private,  without  either  ball  or  reception,  and  Sarah 
could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  wear  anything  more 
expensive  on  her  bridal  day  than  a  Swiss  muslin 
dress,  white  crape  bonnet,  and  white  Stella  shawl. 
Her  sisters  were  terribly  mortified,  but  she  only 
laughed  and  told  them  that  Edward  was  better 
pleased  to  see  her  in  that  costume  than  any  other 
she  could  have  worn. 

"  Yes,"  said  Edward,  coming  in  at  the  moment, 
"  you  forget,  girls,  that 

"  Beauty  when  UDadorn'd,  is  adorn'd  the  most." 

Who  that  loved  Sarah,  as  I  love  her,"  he  added, 
regarding  her  with  a  smile  of  tender  affection, 
"  could  wish  to  see  her  on  her  wedding-day  encum- 
bered with  tawdry  finery  ?  That  face  and  form  re- 
quire no  aid  from  dress  or  ornament.  Nature  has 
made  them  what  /  would  have  them — the  trappings 
of  vanity  would  but  disfigure  them.'* 

The  girls  were  still  unconvinced,  but  a  trip  to 
Washington  and  some  other  Southern  cities,  in 
company  with  the  bride  and  groom,  "  smooth' d 
away  the  wrinkles"  from  their  fair  brows. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  her  daughter,  with  Mr. 
Murray  and  Alice,  did  Sarah  the  honor  of  going  to 
Church  to  see  her  married,  and  each  of  them   gave 


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^  >> 


TA3TK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


281 


her  a  marriage-present  of  one  kind  or  another  when 
they  called  at  the  house  to  offer  their  congratula- 
tions. 

On  their  return  from  their  Southern  tour,  the 
young  couple  took  up  their  residence  for  the  pres- 
ent  at  Mr.  Fogarty's,  at  the  opecial  request  of  Mr*. 
Fogarty,  and  with  Sarah's  full  consent. 


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138 


OLD    AND    NEW  *    OR. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THINGS    IN    GENERAL    AND    SOMETHING   IN    PARTIGULiS. 

"  Why,  my  dear  Bertha !  you  look  fresh  and  fail 
this  morning !"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel  as  she  took 
her  seat  at  the  breakfast  table  about  a  week  after 
we  left  her  going  down  to  supper  with  Bertha  and 
the  Hurrays;  "  Queen  Mab  must  have  favored  you 
with  songes  couleur  de  rose  last  night." 

"  I  cannot  say  my  dreams  were  so  pleasant,  mo- 
ther !'*  said  Bertha  with  a  smile,  "  but  I  was  up 
very  early  this  morning — you  know  it  is  the  1st  of 
May — the  first  day  of  the  Month  of  Mary — so  1 
made  it  a  point  to  hear  Mass,  and  the  long  walk  in 
the  fresh  balmy  air  has,  very  likely,  given  my  cheek 
some  of  the  rose-tints  of  other  days.  But  what  note 
is  that,  mother  ?" 

"  It  is  from  Captai»  Bellew — desiring  to  know  if 
we  will  permit  him  and  Major  Montague  to  have 
the  honor  of  accompanying  us  this  afternoon  to  the 
National  Academy  of  Painting — the  annual  exhibi- 
tion is,  you  know,  open,  and  our  friends  are  desirouH 
of  paying  it  a  visit  before  they  leave  New  York. 

"Mother!"  eriid  Bertha  in  atone  of  quiet  decision, 
"  mother !  I  may  as  well  tell  you  at  once,  what  I 
cught  to  have  told  you  before,  that  I  will  not  go  any- 
where in  company  with  Major  Montague  until " 


:«^ 


■■v^i 


rmr 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


289 


"  Until  when,  my  dear  ?" 

"  Until  I  have  asked  him  a  few  questions — and 
received  satisfactory  answers,'*  she  added  with  some 
hesitation. 

"  Why  not  have  asked  them  before  now,  Bertha  ':'* 

"  Because,  mother !  a  suitable  occasion  has  not 
offered — they  are  question?  that  I  cannot  put  with 
propriety,  unless  he  himseiJL  introduce  the  subject, 
and  I  know  not  that  he  will." 

"Bertha,  my  dear  daughter!"  said  her  mother 
earnestly,  "  when  am  /  to  have  those  promised 
revelations  ?" 

"  Before  this  week  is  out,  mother !"  said  Bertha 
smiling ;  "  be  my  suspense  long  or  short,  yours  must 
end.     Do  you  like  the  flavor  of  this  Soochong  ?'* 

"  Not  so  well  as  that  delicate  Young  Hyson,  if  I 
dared  indulge  in  it  with  safety  to  my  nerves.  But 
remember,  Bertha !— let  me  see — this  is  Tuesday " 

"  I  shall  not  forget,  mother !    Before  Saturday 


night  the  Ides  shall  have  come — and  gone!"  she 
added  in  an  under  tone,  as  if  speaking  to  herself. 

Both  mother  and  daughter  were  silent  for  some 
time,  then  Madam  Von  Wiegel  said,  but  without 
raising  her  eyes :  "  Bertha !  there  is  one  thing  I 
should  like  to  know  without  delay,  if  possible — did 
Robert  Murray " 

"  Declare  his  intentions,"  said  Bertha,  laughing  as 
Bhe  finished  the  sentence.  "  Well !  I  suppose  I  am 
bound  to  answer  frankly,  mother,  when  you  ask  ma 
60  seriously.     He  did." 


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I  .«B  *»  ■  1  , .      •      *   "  ■ 
}AH;»./-i:      ■         ■!■ 


290 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"When?" 

"  The  evening  before  he  left." 

"I  thought  so.  And  what  answer  did  you  give 
him  ?" 

A  faint  blush  stole  over  Bertha's  cheek,  and  h 
Bhade  of  sadness  clouded  her  beautiful  features 
"Mother!"  said  she,  speaking  in  that  half-abstracted 
tone  which  denotes  deep  and  earnest  thought,  "  it 
may  be  that  I  was  wrong  to  say  it — so  decidedly — 
but  I  told  him  I  could  never  give  him  more  than  a 
sister's  love,  and  with  that  he  must  be  content." 

Madam  Von  Wiegel's  countenance  fell.  "  And 
what  was  his  reply.  Bertha  ?" 

"  Why,  he  tried  to  persuade  me  that — that  I  did 
not  know  my  own  mind  with  regard  to  him — I  as- 
sured him  I  did  perfectly,  and  begged  him  to  con- 
tinue no  farther  a  conversation  that  gave  me  pain — 
poor  Robert !"  she  added  with  a  sigh,  "  he  bowed 
and  made  no  answer,  but  sat  looking  at  me  a  mo- 
ment or  two  with  his  heart  in  his  eyes,  then  rising. 
he  held  out  his  hand,  and  as  he  raised  mine  to  his 
lips,  he  said  in  a  voice  that  I  shall  not  soon  forget: 
*  Bertha,  farewell !  God  grant  you  may  never  have 
cause  to  regret  this  moment — may  you  never  learn 
from  dear  experience  the  value  of  one  true  heart !' 
He  was  gone  before  I  could  collect  my  thoughts  to 
speak,  and  I  have  never  seen  him  since." 

"  My  heart  echoes  his  parting  prayer,  Bertha !" 
said  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  the  tears  running  un- 
lieoded  down  her  aged  cheek ;   "  Robert's  love  is 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


291 


green  and  fresh  as  Spring's  first  blossom — his  heart 
is  unspoiled  by  the  world's  deceitful  wiles,  and  I 
know  that  heart  is  all  vours — his  father,  too.  and 
Alica  have  been  building  such  hopes — oh  Bertha! 
how  could  you  so  crush  the  hearts  that  love  you?" 

"  I  cannot — could  not  help  it,  mother !"  said  Ber- 
tha in  a  voice  that  trembled  with  emotion;  "  I  never 
gave  Robert  any  positive  encouragement — you  know 
1  did  not?'*  Madam  Von  Wiegel  shook  her  head 
sadly,  and  then  changed  the  subject  to  one  of  less 
harrowing  interest.  She  did  not  choose  to  ask  why 
it  was  that  Bertha  could  not  help  refusing  Robert — 
she  had  a  misgiving  that  it  was  somehow  connected 
with  the  particulars  she  was  so  soon  to  learn,  and 
she,  therefore,  said  no  more  on  that  topic. 

As  early  as  etiquette  would  permit  Captain  Bellew 
called  at  Rheinfeldt  House  to  know  whether  the 
ladies  were  going  to  the  Exhibition.  He  saw  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  alone,  and  she  told  him,  with  a  polite 
expression  of  regret,  that  as  her  daughter  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  go,  she  had  only  to  thank  Captain 
Bellew  for  his  kind  attention. 

"Another  disappointment  1"  muttered  trie  captain, 
and  his  frank,  handsome  features  were  clouded  for  a 
moment.  It  was  only  for  a  moment — the  next  he 
was  smiling  as  brightly  as  before,  and  begged  to 
assure  Madam  Von  Wiegel  that  there  was  no 
tpo.ogy  required.  "  Of  course  when  Miss  Von 
Wiegel  does  not  feel  inclined  to  go" — there  was  the 
•lightest  possible  curl  on  his  full  rich  lip  as  he  said 


•'  y  ■■• .'  t( 


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292 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


this — "  we  cannot  hope  for  an  honor  which  I  need  not 
say,  my  dear  madam  !  would  have  been  a  very  great 
pleasure  to  us.  Our  stay  in  New  York  is  about 
drawing  to  a  close,  and  we  are,  of  course,  anxious 
to  see  what  progress  the  arts  are  making  under 
Brother  Jonathan's  paternal  care  before  we  leave. 
Having  heard  you  say,  madam,  that  you  intended 
going  to  the  exhibition  some  day  this  week,  we 
hoped  that  our  attendance  might  have  been  agreea- 
ble- 


>j 


"  And  so  it  would.  Captain  Bellew  !  very  agreea- 
ble, indeed — but "  > 

*'  But  the  Fates  forbid  it,  madam !"  said  the  captain 
with  his  sunny  smile,  holding  out  his  hand  at  the 
same  time.  "  Well !  good-bye.  Madam  Von  Wiegel ! 
I  shall  do  myself  the  honor  of  calling  again  before 
leaving — unless  Jan  should  chance  to  turn  crusty 
and  refuse  to  open  the  door.  Good-bye  !"  and  away 
he  went,  laughing  merrily  at  the  latter  conceit,  and 
saying  to  himself  as  he  hastened  down  the  avenue 
io  join  the  major  whom  he  had  left,  as  he  said,  to 
"  walk  his  lonely  round"  in  the  vicinity  of  the  outer 
gate,  "I  shouldn't  wonder,  now,  if  Miss  Bertha 
*  inclined'  next  time  to  refuse  us  admission." 

"  Well,  Gerald,  how  have  you  succeeded  ?"  asked 
Montague,  stopping  in  his  march,  when  his  friend 
issued  from  the  gate. 

"  I've  been  flatly  refused 

"  On  what  grounds  ?" 

"  Miss  Bertha  does  not  seem  inclined  ! — 1  beg  tht 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


291 


iiady*s  pardon,"  added  Gerald,  a  slight  degree  of 
vexation  visible  in  his  tone  and  manner,  "  but  1 
have  no  patience  with  these  feminine  airs  !" 

"Feminine  airs!"  repeated  the  major  with  melao* 
choly  significance,  "  you  forget  the  old  proverb| 
Gerald  !  think  tivice  before  you  sjjeak  once  /" 

"  Well !  I  didn't  exactly  mean  what  I  said  in  thi% 
case — though  positively,  Edgar  !  I  begin  to  think 
that  there  is  no  daughter  of  Eve  entirely  free  from 
those  same  '  feminine  airs' — but,  confound  it !  let 
that  pass  ! — did  I  ever  think  I  should  live  to  hear 
ray  fastidiously-elegant  friend,  Major  Edgar  Monta- 
gue, the  observed  of  all  observers,  '  the  mould  of 
form,*  if  not  quite  *  the  glass  of  fashion,'  condescend 
to  quote  an  old  proverb  ?" 

"  And  why  not,  Gerald  ?  we  surely  cannot  afford 
to  despise  '  the  collective  wisdom  of  ages.'  Let  me 
observe,  on  the  other  hand,  that  /  as  little  expected 
to  hear  my  universally-favored  and  entirely  amiable 
friend.  Captain  Gerald  Bellew,  venting  any  degree 
of  spleen  against  the  fairer  portion  of  our  race. 
What  an  anomaly — only  think !" 

"  Deuce  take  th3m  !"  said  Gerald  in  a  tone  mid- 
VT-ay  between  jest  and  earnest — perhaps  nearer  the 
latter  than  the  former,  "  I  say  no  niure,  my  good 
&iend,  than  their  best  friends  have  said  of  them: 

"  '  Oh !  woman,  in  thine  hours  of  ease, 
Uncertain,  coy,  and  hard  to  please.'  " 

**  Now,  that's  just  what  I  meant,  too — it's  the  con- 


I    « 


■i.'. 


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'A.::f.- 


-  *»  I" — r^^ — TT 


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Sd4 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OB, 


tbuuded  uncertainty  attending  them  that  makes  all 
the  trouble.'* 

"  Yes,  but  in  justice,  my  dear  Gerald  !  you  should 
have  finished  that  stanza,"  said  Montague  with  hii 
calm  smile,  and  he  immediately  added : 

"  *  When  pain  or  sickness  wrings  Uie  brow, 
A  minifrteriug  augkl  Ihuu  !' 

You  see  the  great  master  gives  both  sides  of  the 
picture  in  those  four  lines — he  tells  you,  a£  Handol 
does  his  mother : 

•* '  Look  upon  this  picture — and  on  that'  " 

"  Well !  well !  that  is  not  the  question,  now,  my 
dear  major ! — you  take  this  matter  very  lightly,  it 
seems  to  me,  considering  it  in  all  its  bearings.' 

"  Lightly  !  why  surely,  Gerald !  it  is  not,  after  all 
of  such  serious  import  ?" 

"  Not  to  wie,  undoubtedly,"  said  Bellew  pointedly. 

"  I  should  think  not,  indeed,"  laughed  Montague 
** However,  I  have  news  for  you,  mon  ami! — look 
here,  and  cease  to  wonder  at  my  falling  back  on  the 
collective  wisdom,  or  any  other  wisdom  that  n*ight 
help  one  through  a  dilemma.*' 

He  pointed  to  something  in  the  Daily  Tribuni 
which  he  had  been  looking  over  during  the  captain  s 
ghort  absence. 

"  I  d<m*t  see  anything  here  to  put  your  wits  in 
requisition,"  said  Bellew  after  a  momentary  glance 
At  what  he  took  for  the  part  indicated. 
<„  *'  I«ook  at  the  arrivals  by  the  last  Havre  packet.*' 


iA\ 


^, 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOIf. 


S95 


"Ha!'*  Bellew*s  cheek  paled,  then  flushed  agaiEf 
as  his  eyes  fell  upon  two  names  in  the  list  of  arrivals, 
and  when  he  looked  up  again  a  tear  was  tremb'jn^ 
in  his  eye. 

"  My  poor  friend !"  said  he,  and  taking  his  hand 
he  squeezed  it  hard,  hard. 

"I  thank  you,  Gerald!"  said  Montague  with  a 
quivering  lip  and  a  faltering  voice,  "  I  know  what 
you  would  say,  and  I  feel  it,  too — I  feel  it  her».»," 
laying  his  hand  on  his  heart.  "  I  feel  tliat  while  yoti 
are  near  me  I  am  sure  of  one  sympathiziiii;  frien'l — 
a  friend  who  knows  me  as  I  know  ^nvself." 

"And  perhapfi  a  little  better,"  rejoined  the  cap 
tain,  with  an  effort  to  recover  his  usual  ease.     '•  liu*, 
I  say,  Lclgar!  what  strange  chance  is  it  that  has 
brought  them  hither — and  at  such  a  time?' 

"  Strange  chance !"  repeated  Montague,  with  bit- 
ter emphasis,  "as  well  ask  why  Brutus  met  th(^ 
shade  of  Caesar  at  Philippi.  I  was  told  once  '  iir. 
$hall  meet  again^  and  my  evil  genius  has  traversed 
half  the  earth  since  then — I  believed  that  thousands 
of  miles  were  still  between  us,  yet  here  we  are  in 
the  same  city  on  this  bright  May-day  morning  when 
the  sunshine  revives  the  germ  of  hope  in  the  drea^ 
iest  human  heart.  Oh  Gerald  !  true  friend,  dear 
friend,  where  is  hope  now?'* 

Bellew  laid  his  hand  on  his  friend's  shoulder  and 
pointed  upwards  to  the  blue  sky.  Then  with  a  sud- 
de*'  change  of  manner,  he  said  cheerily :  "  Come, 
come,  my  dear  major!  let  us  dismiss  the  subjects— 


i^i?^^:! 


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.■?  (ji  'i'.  J* 


i-' 


1-,  .  .«,. 


?■■:•', '-^^t^^^ 


Pi  •},  "^ik 


m 


fli 


.;ii.-:'  ." 


..fv;  *<  ;,.  '■■4  i 


,  ..„f  ,'       ■  ,  ... 
:   .   ■    .  -■■■       ^-■'    ,  ' 


S96 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


for  the  present,  at  least — you  cannot  have  forgotten 
the  great  truth  that 

"  '  To  bear  is  to  conquer  our  fate !'  " 

"  Bear  I"  repeated  the  major  with  that  lofty  self 
reliance  which  was,  indeed,  part  of  his  character, 
•*  did  you  ever  suppose,  Gerald  Bellew  !  that  I  would 
shrink  from  any  fate  that  may  befal  me  ? — of  course 
when  I  say  fate,  I  use  it  in  the  sense  that  you  do 
yourself — not  as  the  irrevocable  decree  of  Omnipo- 
tence, which  in  this  case  would  be  a  blasphemous 
idea — men  often  make  their  own  fate,"  he  added 
thoughtfully,  "  aye !  and  shape  their  own  fortune, 
and  then  throw  the  blame  on  a  fore-ordaining  Pro- 
vidence. Passion — prejudice — rashness  or  indiscre^ 
tion,  will  sometimes  change  in  an  instant  the  aspect 
of  a  whole  life — yes,  rear  a  gloomy  fortress  for  one's 
own  heart  to  pine  in  evermore,  or  a  palace  of  delight 
that  will  make  this  earth  a  heaven- 


ii 


"  Cry  you  mercy  there,"  said  Bellew,  well  pleased 
to  see  him  diverging  somewhat  from  his  previous 
line  of  thoujrht,  "I  was  in  the  habit  of  thinking  that 
there  is  no  true  happiness  to  be  found  on  earth. 
Any  scheme  of  felicity  we  may  build  on  the  geolo- 
gical basis  of  earthly  hope  will  be  pretty  certain  to 
topple  down  about  our  ears  when  we  least  expect 
it,  if  it  do  not  entirely  dissolve  in  air,  like  that 
whilom  owned  by  our  childhood's  friend  Alladiu. 
But,  I  say,  Montague  !  what  think  you  of  our  youii^ 
lieutenant  ?" 

"  What  lieutenant  do  you  mean  P" 


m§ 


TASTE    VERSUS   FASHION. 


297 


"Why,  Lieutenant  Murray,  of  courp-^ !" 

"  As  how,  professionally  or  otherwise  ?" 

*'  Why,  otherwise,  to  be  sure !" 

*'  I  am  not  prepared  to  answer  tJuU  question," 
said  Montague  with  a  smile  of  doubtful  meaning 
*'  the  boy  is  well  enough,  as  his  worthy  progenitor 
might  say  if  you  put  the  question  to  him." 

"  He  soars  high,  for  a  stripling — does  he  not, 
Montague  ?" 

"  Pshaw  !  he  scarcely  knows  the  height  of  his  fol- 
ly," was  the  sarcastic  answer,  and  the  two  friends 
stepped  into  one  of  the  Third  Avenue  cars  to  ride 
to  the  Astor  House,  where  they  meant  to  lunch  be- 
fore going  to  the  Exhibition. 

They  had  just  ascended  the  steps,  when  in  the 
portico  they  met  a  tall,  straight  old  gentleman  in  a 
black  Quaker-coat,  scrupulously  white  cravat,  and 
narrow,  high-crowned  hat,  which  rested  rather  than 
lay  on  the  top  of  a  carefully-dressed  brown  wig. 
Kid  gloves  of  faultless  fit  were  on  the  gentleman's 
hands,  one  of  which  held  a  gold-headed  stick — the 
proprietor  called  it  a  cane,  either  because  the  word 
stick  is  not  a  very  euphonious  one,  or  because  such 
as  it  is,  it  conveys  an  idea  of  support,  which  neces- 
sarily implies  weakness  of  body  or  limbs,  and  that 
implication  was,  for  reasons  known  to  himself,  parti- 
cularly distasteful  to  Sir  Henry  Burke. 

Our  friends  would  willingly  have  passed  him,  but 
bis  old  eyes  were  as  sharp  as  their  young  ones,  and 
h«  accosted  them  with  a  stift  but  very  polite  bow. 


t 


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: .;  i.' •-•*-^'-    ■ 

'Mtii  '«;<'',t,|-'i'*  ^  . 
"  ■..■    .  "•■   r, '''■   .  ; 


298 


OLD   AND    NEW  }    OR, 


"  Major  Montague  and  Captain  Bellew  ?*'  he 
inquired.     The  two  officers  bowed  assent, 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  meet  you,  gentlemen  1  very 
glad,  indeed,"  said  the  ancient  beau — "  I  saw  by  the 
morning  papers  that  you  were  staying  at  the  Astor 
House,  and  I  did  myself  the  honor  of  calling  as  soou 
as  I  possibly  could." 

"  The  honor  was  to  us,  Sir  Henry !"  said  Bellew 
speaking  for  both,  "  but  who  on  earth  would  have 
thought  of  seeing  you  in  New  York  ?" 

"Ha!  ha!  I  thought  you  would  be  surprised," 
said  Sir  Henry  with  a  little  shrill  laugh ;  *'  would  you 
believe  it  that  two  weeks  ago  we  were  in  Paris, 
planning  an  excursion  to — I'm  not  sure  whether  it 
was  to  Arabia  or  the  Holy  Land — to  visit  the  tomb 
of  the  Prophet  or  the  tomb  of  the  Saviour — both,  I 
dare  say — when  all  at  once,  after  reading  some  let- 
ters one  morning — you  know  how  extensive  her 
ladyship's  correspondence  is — Lady  Susan  took  it 
into  her  head  to  come  to  America — and  lo !  here  we 
are!"     He  wound  up  with  theatrical  emphasis. 

"  I  see  you  are  as  active  as  ever.  Sir  Henry  1"  said 
Montague,  feeling  it  incumbent  on  him  to  say 
something. 

"  As  active  as  ever !  yes,  and  niore  active  than 
ever — how  else,  think  you,  could  I  keep  flying  round 
and  round  the  globe  with  such  an  erratic  planet  as 
Lady  Susan  ?  Why  a  man  of  less  activity,  and  les§ 
energy  of  character  would  have  succumbed  long  agr, 
and  been  laid  to  rest  in  the  shade  of  the  Pyramids. 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


299 


or/'  he  added  sentimentally,  "  by  the  blue  Italian 
sea  where  Petrarch's  mournful  shade  looks  forth 
from  Pausilippo's  height.  Only  think,  gentlemen  1 
what  an  enviable  lot  to  be  laid  for  aye  in  a  spot 
sacred  to  poesy  and  love,  my  grave  bedewed  by  the 
tears  of  beauty !" 

"  I  heartily  wish  you  were  there  now,  beauty  and 
all !"  politely  said  Bellew  in  an  under  tone,  whilst 
Montague  drew  himself  up  with  more  than  his 
wonted  reserve. 

"  What  did  you  say,  Captain  Bellew  ?"  inquired 
Sir  Henry,  "  I  am  a  little — a  very  little — hard  of 
hearing,  at  times." 

"As  if  we  didn't  know  that !"  muttered  the  captain 
again  with  a  furtive  glance  at  his  friend.  "  I  asked 
you.  Sir  Henry  !  when  did  you  arrive? — ahem  !" 

"  Late  last  night,  my  dear  sir,  late  last  night — you 
see  I  lost  no  time,  but,  of  course.  Lady  Susan  has 
no  idea  I  came  now — if  she  had,  she  would  by  no 
means  consent.  You  know  how  she  stands  on  her 
dignity,  especially  with  young  fellows — a  class  of 
persons  for  whom,  by-the-bye !  she  entertains  a  sov- 
ereign contempt !"  And  the  superannuated  beau 
smiled  with  an  extra  degree  of  suavity  as  though  to 
convey  the  assurance  that  Lady  Susan*s  sovereign 
contempt  for  the  more  juvenile  lords  of  creation  was 
not  at  all  shared  by  Sir  Henry  Burke. 

It  was  no  easy  matter  to  get  rid  of  this  original 
knight  banneret,  without  inflicting  a  very  deep  wound 
OD  his  sensitive  vanity,  but  whilst  our  two  soldieri 


S'; 

■f'  •  J 
.'    t 

.■    :' 

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t 

f  '■ 

i 

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■_ 

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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


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ij, 


Vi 


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•f.  ,.,  ■(!:        «%.??, 


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■  '   ;  <  -11 


y 


were  casting  about  in  their  minds  how  they  cc  nld 
courteously  effect  their  escape,  Sir  Henry  uncon 
sciously  helped  them  out  of  the  dilemma,  by  remem- 
bering all  at  once  that  he  had  promised  Lady  Susau 
to  be  back  in  an  hour  to  lunch,  and  it  was  positively 
five  minutes  past  the  time.  With  a  hurried  good- 
bye he  took  his  departure,  hoping  for  an  early  re- 
newal of  the  pleasure  he  was  then  compelled  ta 
terminate  so  abruptly. 

"  A  good  morning,  gentlemen  !"  Sir  Henry  took 
off  his  hat  and  bowed  with  the  stiffness  and  for- 
mality of  the  old  regime, 

"  Good  morning,  Sir  Henry  !"  and  the  two  friends 
found  themselves  under  the  necessity  of  raising  their 
beavers  to  return  in  due.  form  the  Louis  Quatarzi 
salute  of  the  accomplished  knight. 

"  Confound  him  for  an  antiquated  fop  !"  cried  Bel- 
lew  as  he  and  Montague  traversed  the  spacious  hall 
together,  "he  always  reminds  me  of  Beau  Nasli, 
though  wanting  his  sense  and  spirit " 

"  But  to  hear  him  speak  in  the  same  breath,"  said 
Montague,  "  of  visiting  the  Holy  Sepulchre  and  the 
tomb  of  Mahomet — surely  a  man  of  his  years  ought 
to  manifest  some  degree  of  reverence  for  what  the 
whole  Christian  world  regards  as  sacred — the  visible 
link  between  the  seen  and  the  unseen,  the  finite  and 
the  infinite — the  standing  proof  of  man's  dearly- 
purchased  ransom  !  The  tomb  of  the  Prophet,  m- 
deed  ! — shame  on  the  man's  gray  hairs !" 

"  I  wonder  would  it  be  any  harm  to  wish/'  laughed 


m§ 


'  ■:/ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOK. 


801 


■'■  ■■•-"  i 


Bellew,  "  that  the  fossil  beau  was  suspended  from 
the  magnetic  shrine  of  the  Prophet — that  is  to  say 
the  mortal  part  of  him,  after  Lady  Susan  has  trotted 
the  life  out  of  his  old  body.  He  is  such  a  sight- 
hunter  when  living,  it  strikes  me  he  ought  to  be 
made  a  sight  ot  himself  when  his  spirit  has  winged 
its  way  to  realms  unknown." 

"  Fie  !  fie !  Gerald  !"  said  his  graver  friend,  though 
he  laughed  too,  "  does  Catholic  faith  permit  jesting 
on  the  soul's  mysterious  passage  to  eternity  ?" 

"  Good,  upon  my  honor  !"  said  the  gay  captain  in 
a  whisper;  "  you  know  what  was  said  of  the  Norman 
Geraldines  of  old  in  Ireland — Hibernes  Hiberniorum 
— I  think  /  may  say  of  my  honorable  and  gallant 
friend,  'CatJwlicus  Catholicorum — but,  I  say,  Edgar '. 
why  don't  you  come  out  ?" 

"  /  bide  my  time  /"  was  the  major's  curt  reply,  aa 
they  entered  the  saJ.le  a  manger. 

About  three  o'clock  on  the  following  afternoon 
our  friends  were  walking  up  the  nicely-pebbled 
avenue  to  Rheinfeldt  House,  Bellew,  as  usual,  free 
and  easy,  Montague  silent  and  thoughtful. 

"  Why  so  silent,  friend  Edgar  ?"  demanded  the 
captain  as  they  neared  the  steps ;  "  are  you  ru- 
minating on  the  possible  contingencies  of  our  ap* 
roaching  Indian  campaign — picturing  to  yourself, 
perchance,  the  hair-breadth  scapes  and  thrilling  ad- 
ventures to  be  encountered  amongst  the  tiger- 
baunted  jungles  of  Hindostan  ? — seriously  now,  '.hia 


*i 


J  '• 


f:..U- 

it 

i 

f 

«.> 

'. .' 

■  "       ■     ¥     ■  ■ 

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. '  ^1 

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If 


::*1c,^  ;^ 


y. 


803 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


order  to  join  our  regiment  on  its  way  to  India  ii 
rather  unseasonable — is  it  not?" 

"How  unseasonable,  Gerald  ?  is  not  the  soldier's 
life  made  up  of  such  surprises,  and  he  is  ill  worthy 
the  name  of  soldier  who  Avould  murmur  at  the  or 
der  to  meet  his  country*s  foes  ?" 

"Ow/- country's  foes  !"  said  Bellew  with  unwonted 
seriousness,  "where  are  they?  not  in  India,  assur- 
edly, or  yet  in  China?  Ah,  Edgar!  it  is,  after  all 
an  anomalous  position,  that  of  Irish  gentlemen  draw 
ing  the  sword  in  England's  quarrel — riveting  those 
chains  on  other  nations  which  weigh  so  heavily  on 
our  own." 

"  Why,  Bellew  !  you  seem  to  forget  that  you  are 
a  British  officer,"  said  Montague  with  a  half  smile. 

"  I  do  ttot  forget  that  I  am  a  British  officer,"  re- 
sponded Bellew,  "  nor  shall  I,  while  I  hold  her  Ma- 
jesty's commission,  but  I  cannot  forget,  and  do  not 
wish  to  forget,  that  I  was  an  Irishman  and  a  Catholic 
before  I  was  a  British  officer.'*  His  hand  was  on 
the  bell  as  he  said  these  words,  and  in  a  moment 
Tan's  imperturbably  grave  visage  presented  itself  in 
nswer  to  the  summons. 

"  Are  the  ladies  at  home,  Jan  ?" 

"Yah,  meinherr,    they're  in  the  green  parlor." 
The  green  parlor  was  opened  accordingly  and  tlio 
gentlemen  ushered  in.    Madam  Von  Wiegel  greeted 
them  with  her  usual  kindly  courtesy,  but  Bertha 
merely  acknowledged  their  salut'a  and  bent  ber  eyea 


;i'i, 


'  9\^r;: 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHIOV. 


808 


again  on  a  paper  she  had  been  reading.  The  gentle* 
men  exchanged  meaning  glances. 

"  You  seem  much  interested  in  that  paper,  Miss 
Von  Wiegel,"  observed  the  captain.  "  May  I  ven- 
ture to  ask  is  there  news  of  the  — st  U.  S.  Infantry  ?" 

"  Not  that  I  am  aware  of,  Captain  Bellew  !"  said 
Bertha  with  quiet  composure,  but  without  raising 
her  eyes. 

"  Well,  we  have  had  news  this  morning  of  our 
gallant  — th." 

*'  Indeed  ?"  asked  both  ladies  simultaneously. 
"And  of  what  nature?'*  continued  the  elder. 

"  Nothing  very  particular,"  said  Bellew  gaily, 
"  except  that  the  regiment  is  under  orders  for  India, 
and  we  to  join  it  at  Malta  by  the  end  of  the  montli." 

Montague  turned  his  eyes  on  Bertha — she  was 
still  looking  at  the  paper  on  the  table  before  her, 
but  there  was  a  deep  red  spot  burning  on  either 
cheek,  and  a  tremulous  motion  about  the  lips  that 
told  of  some  inward  emotion  deeper  perchance  than 
words  could  express. 

At  this  moment  a  loud  ring  came  to  the  hall-door 
and  Jan  made  his  appearance  with  "  a  lady  wantt 
to  see  Madam  or  Miss  va-ry  per-tick-lar.' 

"  Where  is  she,  Jan  ?"  said  Bertha,  rising. 

"  I  showed  her  into  the  parlor." 

Bertha  stepped  lightly  across  the  hall,  perhaps 
wondermg  who  the  lady  could  be,  perhaps  thinking 
of  the  Indian  insurrection,  and  the  possible  share 
f bo    -th  wa8  to  have  i^i  its  suppression,  or  perhaps 


-f<',i. 


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,<   »i 


,M 


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K.^'^^^^i^n 


8G4 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


of  some  great  item  of  news,  that  had  riveted  horat* 
tention  in  the  morning  paper — at  last  she  opened 
the  parlor  door  and  walked  in.  A  middle-sized 
lady  of  rather  genteel  appearance  and  dressed  in  the 
tip  of  the  fashion  rose  to  meet  her,  which  she  did 
with  consummate  ease. 

"  Good  morning  I"  said  Miss  Von  Wiegel,  "  prty 
be  seated  !" 

"  Thank  you !  I  shall  be  going  presently  !" 

Miss  Von  Wiegel  knew  not  what  to  say,  so  she 
waited  patiently. 

"  I  called,  madam !  to  show  you  some  specimens 
of  a  new  article  just  invented  (my  husband  holds  the 
patent)  for  taking  stains  or  grease-spots  out  of  silks, 
velvet,  cotton  or  woollen  goods,  carpets,  hall-papers, 
mahogany  or  rosewood  furniture,  also  extracting 
ink  or  other  stains  from  marble  slabs  or  mantel- 
pieces," &c.,  <fec.  Her  taper  fingers  all  the  while  en- 
gaged in  "  undoing"  a  small  parcel,  which  being  **un 
done"  gave  to  view  a  very  small  box  containing  the 
universal  specific  for  the  extraction  of  grease-spots 
and  all  other  defilements.  Bertha,  seeing  clearly 
that  the  speediest  way  to  get  rid  of  the  accomplisled 
Boap- vender  was  to  buy  some  of  her  merchandise,  did 
accordingly  make  a  small  purchase,  without  any  great 
faith,  truth  to  tell,  in  the  *  new  article'  of  which  the 
lady's  husband  held  the  patent.  She  then  rang  for 
Jan  to  show  her  out,  and  returned  to  her  company  in 
no  very  good-humor  with  American  "  institootions/ 
one  of  which  she  recognized  in  the  fashionably-at 


i-;^;: 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


805 


tired  and  entirely  self-possessed  female  whose  spuri- 
ous pretensions  had  imposed  on  Jan  so  far  as  to  bo 
ushered  by  that  official  into  the  parlor.  Miss  Von 
Wiegel  could  not  help  laughing  (provoked  as  she 
was  by  an  interruption  so  ludicrous)  at  the  one 
grain  of  consolation  that  presented  itself  to  her 
mind :  *'  The  President's  wife  or  any  other  great 
personage  in  the  land  may  be  visited  in  her  draw- 
ing-room at  any  moment  by  this,  and  a  score  of 
other,  lady-pedlars." 

With  this  thought  uppermost  in  her  m'lnd  Bertha 
entered  the  opposite  parlor  with  an  amused  expres- 
sion of  countenance,  and  Montague  when  he  caught 
her  eye,  so  far  misinterpreted  its  meaning  that  ho 
smiled  scornfully — at  least  so  Bertha  thought — and 
turning  to  Captain  Belle  w,  said  in  a  tone  of  careless 
ease :  "  I  think,  Bellew !  you  are  forgetting  our  pur- 
posed visit." 

"  It  seems  your  memory  is  more  retentive.  Major 
Montague,"  observed  Bertha  carelessly.  He  looked 
at  her  and  smiled,  but  made  no  answer. 

"  I  thank  you,  major !  for  reminding  me  of  what 
I  really  was  forgetting,"  said  Bellew  starting  up  at 
once. 

"If  your  visit — whether  of  business  or  of  plea- 
sure— could  be  postponed  till  to-morrow,  ger tie- 
men,"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel  rising,  too,  "  I 
should  be  much  pleased  to  have  you  stay  for  dinner. 
We  dine  at  five."  and  looking  at  her  watcl,  "it  ift 
now  half-past  four." 


^■:-  r 


■^-f^'i; 


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■■:■% 


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<f; 


> 


V 

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» 

••♦;■' 

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:  ■xii.^'w: 

::i?«' 


^1  »■?.  ^'- 


iJ,-)    »■.■?»  -'i  ".  Y*    ^         •  i     ■ 


806 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"Shall  we  make  the  sacrifice?"  questioned  Bellew 
gaily  of  his  friend,  "or — let  the  visit  go?" 

"The  latter  we  cannot  do,"  said  the  major  with 
his  cold,  calm  smile,  "  our  time  in  New  York,  you 
know,  is  counted,  we  may  say,  by  hours  !" 

"  True,"  said  the  captain,  but  yet " 

"  Will  you  spend  the  evening  with  us,  then  ?' 
asked  the  lady  of  the  house. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  Madam  Von  Wie- 
gcl" — "  If  we  possibly  can,"  replied  the  two  gentle- 
men, one  with  frank  cordiality,  the  other  with  stately 
courtesy. 

"  We  must  not  be  too  selfish,  mother  !'*  said 
Bertha  with  a  mocking  smile  and  a  contemptuous 
curl  of  the  lip  that  were  only  caught  by  one  pair  of 
eyes  ;  "  we  have  really  had  more  of  the  gentlemen's 
company  than,  under  the  circumstances,  we  had  a 
right  to  expect,"  and  she  bowed  them  out  with  a 
freezing  civility  that  utteHy  astounded  Captain 
Bellew.  i 

"  I  say,  Montngue !  can  your  flesh  and  blood 
bear  that?  Upoi  my  word  and  honor,  mine  can't! 
Endurance,  like  other  virtues,  may  be  carried  too 
far.  If  you  catch  me  again  within  range  of  hcf 
ladyship's  fire,  my  name  is  not  Gerald  Bellew !  I 
•oU  you  she  has  no  heart,  Edgar  Montague !  and 
you  may  find  that  to  your  cost  with  all  your 
boasted  stoicism !" 

Montague's  answer  was  lost  to  his  friend's  ear, 
for  they  both  turned  at  the  moment,  hearing  some* 


.^■Z 


"^f 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


801 


body  puffing  and  blowing  in  hot  pursuit.  It  wai 
Jan,  and  they  stopped  till  he  came  up. 

*'  Well !  Jan,  what's  the  matter?" 

"Meinheer  Major — I  mean  Montag — Monta-gue!  * 
laid  he  putting  a  small  parcel  in  the  hand  of  the 
gentieman  so  indicated,  "  Miss  Bertha's  compli- 
ments wiih  this !"  And  Jan  moved  away  almost  as 
hastily  as  he  came. 

Impatient  to  see  what  Miss  Von  Wiegel  had  sent 
with  so  much  dispatch,  Montague  unfolded  the 
parcel  and  saw — a  handkerchief  marked  with  his 
own  initials.  He  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket — his 
handkerchief  was  there,  and  a  deep  flush  crimsoned 
his  cheek  and  brow. 

"A  handkerchief!'*  said  Belle w  in  surprise; 
"  what  does  that  mean  ?'* 

"Why,  it  means  that  my  memory  is  not  always 
BO  good  as  Miss  Von  Wiegel  seems  to  suppose." 

"Oh!  you  forgot  your  handkerchief ! — I  protest 
I  thcnght  it  was  a  parting  gift." 

"  i&  may  serve  for  that,  too,"  laughed  the  major, 
Kid   ^ere  the  matter  ended  for  that  time. 


4    ■    ■ 


i0'-'. 


i*:: ' 


^  '■ 


308 


OIJ>  AND  NEW  :  OB, 


■'■'  /•»^■i:/'..i.' 


■'■"1 '!»''■  ^■V 


'■p^f^ 


^:^ 


If 


,'•  ait 


'';i 


■'.  J,.;. 


■»'■-■-  •   ", . 

'"■  '  J     -  ;  '♦    ■    ■  ■■» 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

k  WEDDING — GOING  TO  SARATOGA,  AND  WHAT's  IN  A  MAME 

Mrs.  Gallagher  and  her  daughters  were  in  no 
enviable  frame  of  mind,  as  may  be  supposed,  after 
the  discovery  at  Taylor's.  Peace  was  utterly  ban- 
ished from  the  house,  for  one  was  throwing  the 
blame  on  another,  and  it  was  nothing  from  morning 
till  night  but  hinting,  and  cutting,  and  bitter  recrimi- 
nation. Tom  himself  was  the  only  one  that  main- 
tained his  wonted  equanimity,  for  as  he  had  had  no 
share  in  the  Green  and  Brown  humbug,  and  had 
never  given  those  gentlemen  of  color  any  sort  of 
encouragement,  so  the  general  discomfiture  of  the 
family  gave  him  very  little  trouble.  Indeed,  if  truth 
must  be  told,  Tom  was  rather  pleased  than  other- 
wise, that  Green  and  Brown  had  turned  out  as  they 
did,  hoping  that  the  lesson  might  not  be  lost  on  his 
better  (though  certainly  not  wiser)  half,  and  the 
girls.  Poor  Tern  Gallagher !  in  his  honest,  manly 
independence  and  guileless  simplicity  of  heart,  he 
little  knew  the  hold  that  vanity  and  its  cousin-ger- 
man  "  toadyism"  have  on  the  hearts  o."  some,  and 
his  own  family  amongst  the  rest.  So  let  him  dream, 
in  blissful  ignorance,  till  sad  experience  tears  the 
veil  from  stern  reality  The  great  object  of  anxiety 
to  th«  feminine  portion  of  the  household  was  to 


TASTE   Versus   FASHION. 


309 


keep  their  ludicrous  disappointment  from  the  ears 
of  their  acquaintances.  McConoghy  boing  the  only 
actual  witness,  they  applied  themselves  to  conciliate 
him,  in  order  to  induce  him  to  keep  the  secret. 
Mi*s.  Gallagher  went  so  far  as  to  request  Tom  to 
speak  to  him  about  it,  and  urge  upon  him  the  dis- 
grace it  would  bring  on  the  whole  family  if  the  story 
got  abroad. 

"  You  know,  Tom  dear  I "  said  she,  "  we'll  be  the 
laughing-stock  of  the  city — at  least  the  girls  will, 
and  they're  the  wo  .  t " 

"  The  city,  indeea !  "  said  Tom  interrupting  her ; 
"  much  the  city  knows  about  our  affairs !  " 

'*  Well !  we  1 !  you  know  I  don't  mean  the  whole 
city,  but  every  one  that  knows  us  even  by  name. 
I  tell  you,  Tom,  you  must  speak  to  McConoghy,  and 
get  him  to  say  nothing  about  it  to  any  one — if  you 
don't  we'll  be  ruined  out  and  out,  that's  all,  and  need 
never  show  our  faces  anywhere  1  " 

"  Well !  I'm  sure  you  took  pains  enough  to  show 
your  faces  everywhere  with  Mr.  Green  and  Mr. 
Brown,"  remarked  Tom  ;  "  so  you  can  hardly  expt'ct 
the  thing  to  be  kept  secret — besides  all  the  people 
that  used  to  meet  them  here,  and  see  you  and  the 
girls  making  so  much  of  them,  will  be  for  findmg  out 
what's  become  of  them.  I  don't  see  any  use  there 
is  in  saying  anything  about  it  to  McConoghy."" 

"I  tell  you  there  is  use,"  said  Mrs.  Gallagher  em. 
phatically,  '*  and  you  must  do  it — that's  all  about  it, 
nowl"     .       ,  . 


:  tf: 


^-*;P'>l 


^li 


i^'  .: 


810 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;     OB, 


■•■■      vr..^^-?; 


-^, 


■>:^3  . 

.    ^• 

,»           '■' 

< ' 

".'■ 

}m^ 

.'    1 

'  i     ■ 

:  ■  >  1 

1 

.\ 

n.-. 

•"'J/  .; 

"  i 

"  Very  good,*'  said  Tom,  "  if  I  must,  I  must !" 
And  he  walked  away  with  his  good-humored  smile, 
perhaps  a  little  malicious  on  that  occasion. 

Fanny,  it  must  be  confessed,  was  very  active  all 
this  time  in  that  ungracious  domestic  avocation  vul- 
ga"ly  called  keeping  the  house  in  hot  water.  Unlike 
her  father,  she  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  her  satis- 
faction at  the  denouement  of  the  Green  and  Brown 
affair,  and  she  certainly  let  no  opportunity  slip  of 
sending  it  home  to  Mag  and  EUie.  In  her  mother's 
presence,  she  had  grace  enough  to  avoid  the  obnox- 
ious subject,  after  receiving  a  formal  and  not  very 
gentle  prohibition  from  the  maternal  progenitor; 
but  when  her  mother's  back  was  turned,  she  made  her 
tongue  and  temper  ample  amends  for  the  restraint 
put  upon  them.  Annie  and  Janie  were  not  slow  to 
take  advantage  of  so  good  an  opportunity  for  teaz- 
ing  Mag  and  EUie,  and  were  quite  willing  to  do 
their  part  in  keeping  the  ball  (of  discord)  hopping, 
as  the  old  plrase  has  it.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
say  that  Mag  and  Ellie,  being  girls  of  spirit,  did  not 
keep  their  mouths  shut  on  such  occasions,  so  that 
every  room  in  No.  66,  from  garret  to  collar,  was 
occasionally  the  scone  of  a  nice  little  vocal  tourna- 
ment between  the  several  daughters  of  the  house  of 
Gallagher,  during  the  two  or  three  weeks  superven- 
ing on  the  memorable  visit  to  Ta.ylor*s. 

All  this  time  Fanny  was  secretly  buoying  herself 
up  with  the  assurance  that  McConoghy  was  rea«1y 
to  her  hand  whenever  she  ohose  to  give  him  tha 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


311 


flegree  of  encouragement  necessary  for  popping  the 
question.  But  McConoghy  was  not  forthcoming  on 
all  occasions  for  the  exercise  of  Miss  Gallagher's 
condescension;  his  visits  began  strikingly  to  resem- 
ble those  of  angels  as  described  by  the  poet,  being 
decidedly  "  few  and  far  between,"  whereat  Miss 
Fanny  wondered  exceedingly,  and  Miss  Ellie  and 
Miss  Mag  rejoiced  beyoad  measure,  telling  their 
elder  sister  with  more  truth  than  politeness  that 
"  McConoghy  was  too  old  a  bird  to  be  caught  with 
chaff,  and  was  going  off  to  pick  up  grain  elsewhere." 

Miss  Fanny's  own  misgivings  took  the  same  di- 
rection, but  of  course  she  took  the  best  of  care  not 
to  say  so,  contenting  herself  at  first  with  a  sly  smile 
and  a  peculiarly  significant  nod,  as  much  as  to  say  : 
"  Talk  ae  you  will — I  know  how  that  stands  !" — as 
time  wore  on,  however,  and  the  days  of  McCo- 
noghy*8  absence  glided  into  weeks,  the  "  nods  and 
winks  and  wreath'd  smiles"  one  by  one  disappeared 
and  Miss  Gallagher's  ordinary  reply  to  any  sisterly 
inuendo,  or  open  taunt  concerning  the  missing  indi 
vidual,  was  a  highly  contemptuous  toss  of  the  head, 
which, being  interpreted,  meant  "much about  him! — 
as  if  I  cared  wheie  he  goes!"  By  Mag  and  Ellie 
Mr.  McConoghy  was  declared  "  a  gone  ccon,"  as  far 
as  sister  Fan  was  concerned. 

Things  were  in  this  state  at  No.  66  when  the  news 
of  Sarah  Hackett's  approaching  nuptials  came  upon 
the  young  ladies  and  their  mother  with  stunning 
effect — quite  an  electric  shock  to  the  wh<>le  circle. 


'■•.  .hi ' 


<a^f 


'■■  \-|:;  ■•■.;#, iv  ;i  ." 


312 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


',  i:  '•  '.'i>'»if*& 

.•.'■5r7-    T'l   • 


-t  .    '     ■ 


'iii\':i.  * 


"'^■:..     " 


'V^v 


H  ; 


Now  Edward  Fogarty — the  best-looking  and  mo  ^ 
gentlemanly  of  the  three  brothers,  would  have  be^  n 
a  desirable  match  for  the  most  fastidious  of  the  Mins 
Gallaghers,  and  that  tattling  gossip  dame  Rumor 
jad  more  than  once  given  broad  hints  that  some  of 
them  were  setting  their  caps  at  him — a  manifest  fib 
as  regarded  the  caps,  though  perhaps  true  enough 
as  to  the  setting — but  however  it  happened,  Edward 
always  managed  to  keep  a  civil  distance  with  the 
Gallagher  girls,  and  had  been  known  to  say  more 
than  once  thjit  if  it  were  not  for  Tom  hims3lf  bo 
would  never  set  foot  in  the  house ;  moreover,  tbat 
Tom  was  worth  a  ship-load  of  the  wife  and  daugh- 
ters put  together.  But  this  was,  of  course,  under 
the  rose,  and  was  not  positively  known  to  the  Miss 
Gallaghers,  though  they  might  possibly  have  sus- 
pected some  feeling  of  the  kind  on  the  part  of  hand- 
some Edward  Fogarty. 

What,  then,  must  have  been  their  chagrin  and 
mortification  when  assured  beyond  all  possibility  of 
doubt  that  Edward  was  soon  to  lead  to  the  altar  of 
Hymen  their  former  next-door  neighbor,  Sarah 
Haokett,  a  girl  who  had  neither  fortune  noi-  position 
like  the  Miss  Gallaghers.  Sarah  Hackett  of  all  peo- 
ple ! — that  hadn't  a  dollar  to  get ! — why,  to  the  Miss 
Gallaghers'  knowledge — and  :;his  galvanic  shock 
amalgamated  them  all  again — Sarah  Hackett  never 
had  a  dress  on  her  back  that  cost  over  seventy-five 
cents  a  yard  !  ! — the  Hacketts  indeed !  why  they 
never  gave  a  party  in  all  their  life,  and  were  hardlj 


r-'/tM  ^1; 


1  ViV,  ./  ■•"■;',. 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION. 


313 


ever  at  one  ! — well !  strange  things  were  coming  to 
pass,  that  was  certain  ! 

"  'Tis  strange,  'tis  passing  strange,  'tis  wonderful !" 

But  alas!  "tis  true,  and  pity  'tis,  *tis  true.'  Let 
fashionable  people  wonder  ever  so  much  at  Edward 
Fcgarty's  odd  taste,  there  were  the  facts  staring 
them  full  in  the  face  that  the  day  was  appointed,  the 
bridal  dresses  in  the  hands  of  Miss  Waldron,  and 
the  wedding-cake  ordered — they  really  didn't  know 
but  what  the  ring  was  bought ! — yes  !  yes !  to  be 
sure  it  was,  for  Edward  Fogarty  was  seen  by  no 
less  a  person  than  Lil  Smith  in  a  jeweller's  shop  in 
Broadway.  These  preliminary  facts  duly  verified, 
the  Misses  Gallagher  and  Co.  speedily  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  Edward  Fogarty  was  iw  great  things 
after  all — if  he  wasn't  an  odd  fish,  and  a  very  odd 
fish,  too,  he'd  never  have  thought  of  taking  Sarah 
Hackett — every  one  knew  that,  and  for  the  reason 
that  ever  since  she  set  the  house  on  fire  she  was  a 
regular  dowdy,  a  perfect  old  grandmother!  On 
these  and  other  such  premises,  the  young  ladies  of 
that  vicinity  grounded  their  verdict  as  aforesaid, 
and  proved  to  their  own  apparent  satisiaction  that 
there  was  nothing  to  regret  on  their  parts  in  the 
pending  matrimonial  alliance  between  the  Hacketts 
and  the  Fogartys.  Nevertheless,  they  all  showed 
more  anxiety  to  see  how  the  wedding  would  go  otf 
than  an  aftair  of  so  Utile  importance  would  seem  to 
warrant;  sundry  visits  of  (covert)  inquiry  were  madtj 
to  Miss  Waldron  with  a  view  to  ascertain  what  sort 


-'  'C- 


i  % 


*  ,  « 


WCWWT 


v^ 


■•V'  ■« 


il^ 

BBBM? 

6  •  '^ 

>■  i       ,  '  ' 

«' 

r'^'L,:,;-: 

"is* 

814 


OLD    AND    NKW  1    OR, 


the  dressee  were  to  be — what  the  bride  was  to 
wear — whether  Aune  and  Mary  were  having  silk 
dresses,  and  if  so,  what  color,  tfec,  ifec.,  &c.  But 
Miss  Waldron,  as  our  readers  may  remember, 
was  a  very  sagacious  individual,  with  quite  a  largu 
€hare  of  those  valuable  qualities  prudence  and  com- 
mon sense ;  she  had  little  desire,  therefore,  to  gra 
tify  the  itching  ears  of  our  fair  news-hunters,  and 
being  fully  on  her  guard  against  their  prying  curi- 
osity, sustained  the  cross-examination  so  well  that 
the  several  visitors  left  her  dwelling  little  the  wiser 
for  their  visit,  much  dissatisfied  with  their  soant 
measure  of  success,  and  in  very  bad  humor  with 
*'  that  provoking  Miss  Waldron." 

When  it  became  known  that  no  invitations  wero 
issued  for  the  wedding,  the  murmurs  of  discontent 
burst  at  once  into  a  storm  of  indignation,  mingled, 
of  course,  with  contempt.  It  was  declared  on  all 
hands  that  it  was  "  real  mean  of  the  Hacketts" — 
but,  then,  what  better  could  be  expected? — every- 
body knew  what  they  were,  and  so  forth,  ad  in^nitu?n. 
Now  this  was  hardly  fair  on  the  part  of  the  Gal- 
laghers, at  least,  seeing  that  v/hen  they  had  a  wed- 
ding at  their  house,  the  Hackett  family  were  not 
honored  with  an  invitation,  next-door  neighbors  an 
they  were. 

The  Gallagher  ladies  were  still  suffering  from  tho 
double  and  treble  wounds  inflicted  by  the  transfor- 
mation of  Sarah  Hackett  into  Mrs.  Edward  Fogarty, 
when  their  Sister)  Mrs.  Samuel  C,  in  her  great  sis 


'■.it' 


i^< 


9fi 

'mi 


-  *."•■ 


TASTK    VERSUS    FASHION 


815 


terly  kindness,  presented  them  with  a  little  nephew, 
and  in  due  time,  of  course,  with  a  grand  christening. 
This  event,  with  the  bustle  and  excitement  attending 
thereon,  and  the  no  small  importance  of  having  such 
a  novel  affair  to  manage,  entirely  drew  off  the  young 
ladies*  attention  from  the  wedding,  and  (for  the  time 
being)  all  other  sublunary  concerns.  The  very 
naming  of  the  child  was  a  matter  of  all-absorbing  in- 
terest, aud  was  not  decided  upon  until  a  family 
council  was  called  for  the  momentous  occasion,  from 
which  council  was  formed  a  speciM  committee,  con- 
sisting of  the  lady  members  of  the  united  families. 
The  young  father  had  intimated  a  wish  that  the  boy 
should  be  called  Thomas -William,  in  honor  of  the 
two  grandsires,  but  this  proposition  was  con- 
temptuously set  aside,  and  after  long  and  earnest 
deliberation  (on  the  part  of  the  ladies,  as  before  in- 
dicated), the  infant  scion  of  the  house  of  Fogarty 
was  presented  at  the  baptismal  font,  and  thence 
taken  bearing  the  imposing  patronymic  of  Herbert- 
William-Thomas-Samuel  Fogarty.  Some  would 
have  had  George -Washington  superadded,  but  thia 
was  overruled,  and  the  name  stood  as  above  on  the 
baptismal  register. 

The  delightful  bustle  attending  the  christening  of 
Mister  Herbert  W.  T.  S.  Fogarty  was  scarcely  over 
uhen  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  her  three  eldest  unmarried 
(laughters  set  out  for  Saratoga,  die  preparations  for 
that  great  event  having  been  for  some  three  or  font 
weeks  previ'.ms  progressing  in  the  skilful  hands  oi 


■••-•":  T 


.viv 


■  it 


-  ■  r. 


A 

■ » 


■(■.'■ 


v-^?...  ■■'■ 


1, 

t 

816 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR 


J     If-     •  I 

»    •»  ♦  I  - 


:'i: 


t     ■ 

■     't  *?    ..  ^  •    V  ■*  V*V^ 


>••:■! 


-?v 


:*-  ft 


■■"■       '     ^     "     '■   '■..'/    ■  . 


Miss  Waldron,  aided  by  her  efficient  staff  of  more 
juvenile  practitioners  in  the  art  viodiste.  It  would  but 
weary  the  reader  to  enumerate  the  contents  of  tho  nii- 
merous  trunks,  packing-cases  and  bandboxes  (the  hit 
ter  made  to  order  by  the  tinsmith),  that  were  conveyed 
to  Saratoga  from  the  residence  of  Mr.  Thomas  Gal- 
lagher, all  duly  marked  in  very  conspicuous  charac- 
ters, by  the  careful  hands  of  Atty  Garrell,  "  Mrs.  T. 
Gallagher,  United  States  Hotel,  Saratoga."  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  in  those  repositories  of  fashion  there 
were  robes  cle  ch(r>nbre,  robes  de  matinee  (worn  as 
breakfast  dresses  in  fashionable  life),  dinner-dresses, 
evening-dresses,  walking-dresses,  sleeping-dresses 
(why  not?),  together  with  basques,  sacques,  ovcr- 
ekirts,  hats  (meaning  bonnets),  and  gipsy  flats 
(meaning  hats)  in  any  number,  all  of  the  rarest  and 
most  r^c/icrcA/ materials  in  their  several  kinds.  Then 
there  was  a  brace  of  boxes  of  French  kid  gloves,  as- 
sorted colors,  and  a  valuable  stock  of  laces  and 
pocket-handkerchiefs,  with  all  the  other  costly  trifles 
that  go  to  make  up  the  toilet  of  a  New  York 
fashionable  lady. 

Much  serious  discussion  arose  as  to  whether  the 
carriage  and  horses  were  to  be  taken  or  not,  but 
against  that  Tom  set  his  face  in  tot.o^  and  planted  his 
foot  firmly,  too,  on  the  ground  of  opposition,  saying 
with  his  usual  good  sense  that  the  ladies  might  do 
for  a  few  weeks  without  the  carriage,  and  that  it 
would  be  a  ridiculous  thing  for  them  to  be  taking  it 
with  them  all  the  way  to  Saratoga,  and  the  iron" 


m 


tastr  versus  fashion. 


317 


grays  and  Peter  into  the  bargain.  At  first  thero 
was  some  grumbling  on  the  part  of  the  girls,  and 
Mrs.  Gallagher  herself  seemed  hard  to  convince  that 
the  turn-out  must  be  left  at  home. 

"Dear  me,  Ellen  !"  says  Tom  at  last,  "  how  would 
you  do  if  you  hadn't  it  at  all  ?  Maybe  if  you  had  it 
with  you,  it's  what  you'd  be  getting  it  put  on  the 
hotel-books,  as  they  say  one  of  our  New  York 
moneyed  men  did  a  few  years  ago  at  liockaway. 
Wouldn't  it  read  well  on  the  books :  '  Mrs.  T.  Gal- 
Uigher,  New  York^  Jive  daughters — man-servant^  car 
riage  and  pair  of  horses  1 — eh,  Ellen  ?' " 

Tom's  laugh  was  not  echoed  by  his  wife  or  daugh- 
ters— they  were  too  angry  at  the  notion  of  being 
compared  to  such  an  ignoramus  as  the  moneyed  man 
aforesaid  to  acknowledge  the  joke  even  by  a  smile. 
They  saw,  however,  that,  for  once.  Pa  was  deter- 
mined, and  as  Pa's  funds  were  to  be  largely  drawn 
on,  it  was  judged  wiser  to  let  the  carriage  remain 
at  home,  and,  moreover,  to  give  np  the  point  with 
as  good  a  grace  as  might  be. 

"  But  I  tell  you  what,  Tom  Gallagher,  said  hig 
spouse  in  a  half  jest,  whole  earnest  tone,  ''  let  it  be 
where  it  is  till  we  come  back — unless  you  take  Eliza 
and  the  baby  out  now  and  then  for  a  ride.     No  mm- 
of  your  tricks,  mind!  or  you  and  I'll  not  be  friends." 

"What  tricks  do  you  mean?"  said  Tom  very 
innocentlv. 

"  What  tricks  do  I  mean? — you  know  well  enough 
what  tricko  I  mean  !     As  if  I  didn't  hear  all  aboul 


•  « 


,1.  ■  < 


^>  ., 


5J.  < 


•<•':«(   f,    ■'/.% 


. '-  .y :  •■ 


5  ■• ; '?  f 


J^lfiil;!^'^'' 


'  .)'. 


t    ":>..:' 


.«  •■'  7"-> 


;:  < 


518 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


your  driving  out  with  Mister  Atty  Garrell,  no  less, 
when  you  got  our  backs  turned ! — ay  !  and  beiori; 


ever  we  set  our  foot  in  our  own  carriaije." 


Mu 


(•) 


•whispered  Fauny  in  a  tone  of  strong  admonition, 
and  immediately  Mrs.  Gallagher's  rising  angir 
cooled  down,  and  she  wound  up  with  a  little  forced 
cackling  laugh :  "  Well !  I  know  it  was  for  want  of 
a  thought  you  did  it — but  you  know  Atty  Garrell  in 
no  companion  for  you,  especially  in  your  own  car- 
riage -and  so  we'll  say  nothing  about  it — for  good- 
ness' sake,  Tom  !  don't  be  making  so  little  of  your- 
self and  us! — respect  yourself,  Tom!  and  the  world 
■will  respect  you !" 

Tom,  well  pleased  to  get  off"  so  easily,  was  dis- 
posed to  promise  anytiiing  and  everything,  and  so 
was  left  in  charge  of  the  carriage,  with  permission, 
as  before  mentioned,  to  take  himself  and  Mrs.  S.  C. 
and  Master  Herbert — or,  as  he  was  already  de- 
signated, "  Hebby" — out  for  an  airing.  Mr.  S.  C. 
was,  of  course,  included  in  the  privilege,  when  that 
young  gentleman  felt  inclined  to  avail  himself 
thereof. 

It  was  a  subject  of  eome  regret  that  Mrs.  Sara 
could  not  accompany  her  mother  and  sisters  to  Sara 
toga,  but,  of  course,  it  was  not  I'j  be  thought  of 
under  the  circumstances,  as  Master  Hebby  would 
have  made  but  a  sorry  travelling  companion,  and  his 
mother  couldn't  think  of  going  anywhere  with  "  a 
equalling  baby,"  as  she  rather  contemptuously  styled 
her  first-born. 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


819 


When  Tom  found  himself  in  quiet  possession  of 
the  house,  with  a  certain  Ally  Brady,  an  ancient 
spinster,  a  cousin  of  Mrs.  Gallagher's,  for  house- 
keeper pro  toUf  he  cheerily  resolved  to  make  himself 
at  home  and  comfortable  during  the  absence  of  the 
ladies.  To  that  end,  taking  time  by  the  forelock, 
he  invited  his  neighbor  Mr.  Fogarty,  John  McCo« 
noghy,  Henry  Hackett,  and,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
Atty  Garrell,  to  "  smoke  a  cigar"  with  him  the  very 
first  evening  he  had  the  house  to  himself  Now 
Tom  Gallagher  was,  in  his  way,  an  excellent  enter- 
tainer, and  when,  as  on  the  present  occasion,  he 
could  do  things  just  as  he  liked,  his  heart  expanded 
with  genial  warmth,  and  he  felt  exuberantly  happy 
in  the  company  of  his  "  chosen  few." 

"Why  didn't  you  bring  Michael,  Henry?"  said 
he  to  Henry  Hackett,  busying  himself  at  the  same 
time  in  arranging  on  the  table  certain  accompani- 
ments for  the  cigar  to  which  he  had  respectively 
invited  his  friends. 

♦'  And  who'd  mind  the  store  if  I  did  ?"  inquired 
Henry.     "  You  know  it  won't  mind  itself* 

"  Of  course  not,  Henry,  but  couldn't  you  close  a 
little  earlier  for  one  night  ?" 

"  I  could  if  I  had  my  fortune  made  like  you  of 
Mr.  Fogarty  here,  but  dear  knows  when  that  will 
be." 

"  Maybe  it's  not  so  far  off  as  you  think,"  observed 
William  H.  "  What  about  the  lot  of  sugar  you 
were  looking  aftei  ?"  •< 


n«' 


'..■'/■ 


i  ; 


V  J' ' » 


:'.''•■? 


.         ,{ 


fi::-^^ 


•SI* 


■.?,S 


>^'':,-. 


'J'  •■>>'  •  r     . 


■■  '1.'      ''*-,■**■ 


■' 


iiiii^-:^" 


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4    :^*'  ."*       ■■■.»  'if-'-'     .*■' 


1^20 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  Didn't  get  it,  Mr.  Fogarty !  didn't  get  it,  sir '." 
and  Henry  shock  his  head  dejectedly. 

"  Why,  how  was  that,  man,  did  you  go  to 
McKeon?" 

"  I  did,  then,  but  he  couldn't  do  anything  for  mo, 
at  least  he  said  so." 

"  And  did  you  tell  him  /  was  willing  to  go 
security  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  did,  sir !' 

"  Well !  and  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"  Oh !  he  said  he  knew  you  very  well,  and  couldn't 
wish  for  any  better  security,  but  he  had  promised 

the  sugar  to  Lindsay  in street  and,  of  course, 

couldn't  break  his  word — and  so  he  wished  me  good 
morning,  and  I  had  to  walk  out." 

"  Ay  !  that's  the  way  with  them  all,"  said  William 
H.  shaking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar,  "  the  rich  man 
will  get  a  chance  where  the  poor,  struggling  man 
won't.  And  the  v/orst  of  it  is  when  it's  your  own 
countryman  that  has  it  in  his  power  to  do  you  a 
good  turn,  and  won't  do  it.  Now,  just  think  of 
that,  Tom ! — there's  Dan  McKeon  and  he  had  the 
Belling  of  that  cargo  of  sugar, — poor  Hackett  here 
wanted  to  get  some,  and  as  it  was  to  be  sold  in  lots, 
he  thought  he  had  a  good  chance  of  laying  in  what 
would  do  him  for  some  time.  He  had  about  half 
the  money  for  what  he  wanted,  and  I  told  him  I'd 
go  security  for  the  other  half,  for  Dan  and  I  had 
many  a  dealing  in  our  time,  and  he  knows  how  I 
stand  as  well  as  any  one     But  you  see  he  wouldn't 


V 


■•«■?- 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOW. 


321 


throw  the  bargain  in  Henry's  way,  even  to  oblige 
me,  but  must  give  it  to  that  Lindsay  ihat^s  as  rich 
as  a  Jew.     Now  a'nt  it  too  bad  ?" 

"  Bad  I"  repeated  Tom,  "  why  it's  shamelul,  bui 
unluckily  it's  nothing  new.*' 

Here  John  McConoghy  made  his  appearance,  and 
being  questioned  by  Tom  as  to  why  he  didn't  come 
earlier,  responded  with: 

"  Why  didn't  yau  come  to  the  meeting  ? — I  thought 
I'd  see  you  all  there !" 

"  Why,  what's  up  now  ?"  said  Tom  Gallagher. 

"  What's  up  now  !  Well !  you're  a  nice  man  for 
a  citizen ! — maybe  you  don't  know  either  that  Ro- 
land McFustian  is  expected  out  in  the  next  steamer?'* 

"  Well !  and  what  if  he  is  ?" 

"  Why,  he's  going  to  get  a  public  reception,  to 
be  sure ! — hand  me  over  a  cigar,  Tom  !  will  you  ?** 

"  A  public  reception  !"  said  William  H.  "  And 
what  for,  John  ?" 

"  As  if  /  could  answer  tJiat  question  ! — I  guess  for 
what  all  the  McFustians  get  receptions  for  in  New 
fork.  It's  a  sign  you  didn't  read  the  papers  this 
morning  or  you'd  know  all  about  the  great  McFus- 
tian— why  his  name  was  at  the  top  of  the  first  col- 
umn in  every  one  of  the  Dailies  in  extra-large  capi- 
tals— Expected  arrival  of  the  illustrious  patriot^  McFus- 
tian I  Public  reception  !  Great  preparations — Torch- 
light procession — Grand  serenade!  Hurrah!  three 
cheers  for  McFustian !  God  save  the  President  !'* 
And  John  waving  his  cigar  over  his  shoulder  with 


'1  (. « r 


i; 


1  p  h  "»*,«'  .■,--'»"l 


822 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


I"*" 


"    <! 


•     ■  • 


n'  - 

f.  ,1*'  i 

■ ']'  ■^'« 


,*•  t      £.  ■  M.-  art' 

*..■•  V,' ->■„.,■ 

•••-;•.■  ■'-'"■;,•  t  ■' 

'     .■'■».   >  !>  ',  r,   '^  ■ 


well-feigned  enthusiasm,  the  lighted  end  came  di 
rectly  in  contact  with  Atty  Garrell's  somewhat  lanlc 
side-locks,  which   might   have  caught  the   elcctiio 
gpark  had  they  not  been  oiled  with  extra  care  on 
that  momentous  occasion. 

As  it  was  Atty  was  quite  flurried,  and  made  a  lit 
tie  exclamation  expressive  of  nervous  trepidation : 
"  Dear  me,  Mr.  McConoghy  !  you  came  near  poking 
your  cigar  in  my  eye  !** 

"  Bless  my  soul,  Atty  !"  cried  John  turning  quickly 
on  his  seat,  and,  as  it  were,  very  much  in  earnest, 
"  you  a'nt  scorched,  are  you  ?" 

Atty,  slightly  ruffled  by  the  obstreperous  laughter 
of  Tom,  and  the  quieter  but  no  less  hearty  merri- 
ment of  William  H.,  answered  rather  tartly  :  "  If  I 
a'nt,  I  needn't  thank  you,  Mr.  McConoghy  ! — I  guess 
you  paid  a  visit  to  the  Pewter  Mug*  after  your 
McFustian  meeting !" 

"  Come,  come,  Atty  !  never  mind  !"  said  McCo- 
Doghy  slapping  him  vigorously  on  the  shoulder,  "  I 
didn't  mean  to  make  a  goose  of  you,  though  I  believe 
I  did  singe  you  a  little." 

*■  But  what  about  McFustian  ?'*  inrjuired  William 
H.  "To  be  sure  we  all  saw  thp  great  flourish 
about  him  in  the  Herald  this  morning,  but,  then, 

♦  The  "  Pewter  Mug"  is  a  sort  of  appendage  to  the  famoua 
Tamtoany  Hall — a  council-room,  as  it  were,  whither  the  chief 
men,  or  wire-pullers,  are  won^  to  retire  from  the  noie  and 
publicity  of  the  larger  establishment  to  discuss  their  private 
plans,  and  such  other  matters  as  pewter  mugs  are  wont  to  fur« 
(•ish  on  Bttcb  occasioDS. 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION 


32a 


Heralds  are  greut  blowers,  you  know,  and  alwayf 
blowing  somebody's  trumpet,  so  I  didn't  pay  much 
attention.     What  did  McFustian  do  ?" 

"  Faith,  I  never  heard  •!'  the  man  before,*'  said 
Tom  looking  up  with  great  naivete  from  the  jug  of 
punch  he  was  skilfully  preparing.  Tom,  it  may  bo 
seen,  was  not  much  given  to  the  reading  of  news- 
papers. 

"Well!"  said  McConoghy,  "  Roland  hasn't  done 
much,  that's  a  fact — but  he  has  made  a  great 
noise,  and  that's  all  the  same  now-a-days.  He  was 
first  among  the  Chartists  in  England,  and  helped 
Fergus  O'Connor  to  kick  up  a  dust  there — after 
that  he  went  to  Hungary  to  help  the  Magyars— 
lastly,  he  was  out  with  Smith  O'Brien  and  the  ress 
of  them  at  Slievenamon,  and  knocked  down  a  police- 
man with  a  blow  of  his  fist.  I  don't  know  what  all 
he  did  since — but  he's  coming  out  here  to  seek  his 
fortune  like  every  one  else,  and,  of  course,  he  must 
have  a  reception — they  say  he's  a  wonderful  great 
hand  at  making  a  speech.'* 

"  And  old  Tammany  is  going  to  take  him  up  ?'* 
asked  Mr.  Fogarty. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure ;  we  have  chartered  a 
steamboat,  or  I  think  two  of  them,  to  meet  him 
down  below  the  Narrows,  each  with  a  brass  band  on 
board,  and  escort  him  up  to  the  city ;  then  all  the 
trades  are  to  march,  and  I  believe  the  Mayor  aud 
the  Common-Council,  and  there's  to  be  speeches  in 
the  City  Hall,  and  the  troops  are  to  turn  out- 


>1 


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lif . 


324 


OiO   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


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'  Nonsense,  man  !  you  don't  mean  to  say  they're 
all  to  turn  out  ?"  cried  Tom  incredulously. 

"  Well !  not  all,  I  believe,  but  some  of  them  are 
I  know  for  certain,  and  the  police,  too——" 

"  A  fine  chance  for  the  rogues  and  rowdies," 
timidly  suggested  Atty. 

"  And  the  firemen  are  to  have  a  torchlight  pro- 
cession in  the  evening,  and  I'm  not  sure  whether 
there's  to  be  fireworks  or  not,  but  I  know  the  Tam^ 
many  folk  are  going  to  give  him  a  dinner,  and  they 
say  there's  three  or  four  judges,  and  I  don't  know 
bow  many  other  high-up  gentlemen,  all  vieing  with 
each  other  who'll  have  him  for  a  guest." 

"  God  help  us  !"  said  Tom,  who  had  just  been 
holding  a  consultation  at  the  room-door  sotto  voce 
with  Ally  Brady — "  God  help  us  !  and  the  city  and 
Tammany  Ilall  are  going  to  all  them  rounds  about 
a  fellow  that  has  never  done  anything  but  make 
speeches " 

"  And  wasn't  that  a  great  deal,  Tom  f"  said  Wil- 
liam H.  with  caustic  humor;  "why,  only  for  hira 
and  the  like  of  him,  you  and  I,  and  all  the  rest  of 
the  world  would  go  to  sleep  and  sleep  till  doomsdaj;. 
It  does  the  world  good  to  be  poked  up  once  in  a 
while,  like  the  wild  beasts  in  the  menagerie — there 
would  be  no  fun,  at  all,  in  going  to  see  them  if  the 
keeper  didn't  come  along  now  and  then  and  stir 
them  up.  The  McFustians  are  the  greatest  people 
out,  for  they  keep  us  all  alive  galloping  round  and 
round  on  their  hobbies  "       . 


TA31E    VERSUS    FaSHIOX 


825 


"  On  their  hobbies,  Mr.  Fogarty,  how  is  that  ?" 
Tom  Gallagher  never  dealt  in  metaphor  himself,  and 
was  sometimes  at  a  loss  to  understand  those  who 
did. 

"  Why,  you  see,  Tom !"  said  William  H.  setting 
his  head  knowingly  on  one  side,  "  there's  peopl* 
that  walk  a-foot  through  the  world — plain  people 
like  ourselves  here — stop  a  bit!  I  know  what  you're 
going  to  say,  but  I  tell  you,  you're  one  of  the  pedes- 
trians if  you  had  fifty  carriages — well!  there's  others 
that's  always  mounted  on  some  conceit  or  notion  of 
their  own — that'b  what  we  call  a  hobby,  Tom, — and 
there  they  go,  as  I  said,  galloping  back  and  forth,  up 
and  down,  at  the  rate  of  a  hunt,  content  a^  long  as 
they  get  people  to  look  and  listen,  and  knowing  no 
more  than  a  blind  bat  what  they're  driving  at  or 
where  the  hobby  will  carry  them — for  all  the  world 
like  the  phooka  we  used  to  hear  so  much  about  in  our 
early  days.  Now  the  beauty  of  it  is,  that  your 
hobby-riders  have  no  respect,  at  all.  for  other  peo- 
ple's hobbies,  but  dash  on  and  on,  trampling  down 
all  before  them,  and  what's  worse  than  all,  they're 
not  content  with  riding  tho  hobby  themselves  but 
must  have  other  people  mount,  too,  and  gallop  n  way 
as  they  do — whatever  road  their  phooka  is  pleased 
to  take,  nothing  will  serve  them  but  the  rest  of  the 
world  must  follow  suit.    Do  you  understand,  now?'* 

This  question  being  of  general  application  was  an- 
swered individually  after  the  manner  peculiar  to 
each. 


-. '  - . 
.«•'■.■  < 


:i^. 


'1 


^  .    1.'   ■  ,  ..  *'   »  ■     .»■■ 

•..*.■  ■■'''A      ■'■    '■   .     ?/•, 

iii  ■■•''  •     '    ■■ 


w-t- 


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.*; 


■"'if''. I  ■    ■;■■'• 

" ',  ■  •'•     hi*' ^''>* '■*... 


|'.i-5'>'''j-' 


f.iw 


'    '  ■  1    ■      .■«',,'■■ 


326 


OLD    AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


Tom  nodded,  and  said:  "Of  course,  we  lo,  Mr. 
Fogarty !"  McConoghy  laughed,  and,  taking  his 
cigar  from  his  mouth,  exclaimed :  "  I'm  thinking 
there's  few  but  rides  some  hobby  or  another !'' 
while  Atty  smiled  a  wintry,  watery  smile,  and  said : 
**  Very  good,  Mr.  Fogarty  !  very  good,  indeed,  sir!'' 

"  But  to  speak  seriously,"  resumed  William  H., 
"  these  public  receptions  are  come  to  be  a  great 
farce — at  least  here  in  New  York.  They're  so  com- 
mon now  that  nobody  cares  a  thing  about  them.  I 
remember  when  I  came  out  here  first — let  me  see — 
thirty  years  ago — ay  !  and  for  long  after,  a  publio 
reception  in  New  York  was  worth  something — it 
really  was, — because,  you  see,  it  was  only  given  to 
men  that  had  done  something  to  deserve  such  an 
honor.  Everything  was  conducted,  too,  in  a  dif- 
ferent way  from  what  it  is  now,  and  the  whole  affair 
was  grand — but  now  every  fellow  that  has  made  a 
little  noise  in  the  world  or  got  up  a  row  anywhere 
under  the  sun  in  the  name  of  Liberty — which  with 
a  good  many  of  them  means  dosh  and  buncumb — or 
has  raised  a  dust  at  home  or  abroad  as  he  dashed 
along  on  his  phooka-hobby — oh,  of  course,  he  must 
have  a  reception  in  New  York,  and  the  whole  city 
is  on  tip-toe  to  get  a  look  at  him.  Now,  go  no 
farther  than  MoFustian.  "What  earthly  good  has 
that  fellow  done  ?  He  has  made  a  groat  many 
flourishing  speeches,  to  be  sure — (you  see  I  know 
more  about  him  than  I  pretended,  John  !) — but  what 
if  he  has  ? — I  tell  you  he's  nothing  better  than  a  big 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


82T 


K- 


windbag,  puffing  himself  out  like  the  frogs  in  the 
fiible  to  make  a  great  man  of  himself — which  lie 
can't  do,  for  nature  didn't  do  it  for  him — and  it's 
ten  chances  to  one  if  he  don't  burst  as  the  frog  did, 
and  make  a  holy  show  of  himself,  and  a  fori  of  the 
whole  city,  when  he's  here  a  wliile  on  his  own  shifts. 
Such  things  have  happened  before,  and  may  happen 
again.  I  wonder  will  our  great  city  ever  come  to 
the  years  of  discretion,  or  learn  to  profit  by  ex- 
Mei'ience  ?'* 

Whether  or  no  we'll  drink  to  it's  prosperity," 
said  the  host,  "  it's  a  first-rate  place  for  a  man  to 
make  a  living,  if  he  only  knows  now."  The  propo- 
bitioD  was  hailed  with  acclamation,  and  duly  car* 
ried  out. 


• )  ,.  .  , 


*V 


I^x:^^*'«vt'. 


i?:--. 


-5*  ,• 


828 


OLD    AND    NEW  \   OB, 


V  '^    '  •/■ 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


RELATING    CUIEFLY    TO   THE    PAST. 


*'  •« 


.  .  J*  *'  '  ■  (ft 


.'•*'■ 


I     ,-        '-i 


DiNN£S  was  ove-  that  day  at  Rheinfeldt  House, 
the  qxxiet  tete-a-tete  '^  nner,  qmeter  even  than  usual, 
for  Madam  Von  W  <  '  and  her  daughter  were 
both  more  eilent  than  \  *r  wont,  each  apparently 
busy  with  her  own  thoughts.  They  left  the  dinner- 
table  with  the  dessert  untasted,  much  to  Betty's 
annoyance,  for  it  so  happened  that  she  had  succeeded 
to  a  marvel  in  a  delicate  dish  oiblanc  mange  of  which 
the  ladies  were  fond,  and  had,  moreover,  a  choice 
display  of  what  fruit  the  season  could  afford.  It 
was  very  mortifying,  no  doubt,  and  Betty  grumbled 
exceedingly,  and  vented  her  spleen  on  Jan  as  the 
only  legitimate  object  within  reach,  telling  him  with 
marked  emphasis  that  "  it  was  easy  seen  where  the 
odd  ways  came  from,  and,  indeed,  there  couldn't 
much  else  but  odd  ways  com-j  from  the  same  art." 
"Whether  Jan  understood  the  drift  of  the  allusion  or 
not,  he  was  fain  to  appear  as  though  the  latter  were 
the  case,  and  nodded  unqualified  assent  as  perforfx 
he  should. 

The  ladies,  meanwhile,  took  a  turn  in  the  garden, 
then  placed  themselves  on  a  rustic  seat  in  the  back 
piazza,  and  talked  of  many  things,  of  everything, 
indeed,  save  and  except  the  one  that  was  uppermost 


TASTK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


321 


in  the  minds  of  both.  The  old  ancestral  castle  by 
the  Rhine  and  the  smiling  Rhenish  vineyards,  the 
wild  traditions  connected  with  the  rocks  and  lulls 
and  valleys  of  that  storied  region,  the  old-world 
manners  and  customs  found  in  perfection  amongst 
the  Rhineland  peasants,  and  lastly,  the  merits  and 
demerits  of  Balwer's  "Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine."  all 
these  were  in  turn  discussed,  some  with  affectionate 
remembrance.  Then,  by  a  natural  transition,  fond 
memory  passed  to  Castle  Mahon,  and  the  grand  old 
pile  rose  before  them,  its  turrets  gilt  with  "  the  light 
of  other  days,"  and  its  halls  peopled  with  the  dead 
and  distant.  And  Bertha  told  her  mother  of  plea- 
sant excursions  in  the  neighborhood,  through  "  deep- 
vallied  Desmond,"  and  St.  Finbar's  lovely  isle 


in  lone  Qougane  Barra 


Where  Allua  of  songs  rushes  forth  as  aa  arrow." 

"  I,  too,"  said  Bertha  fixing  her  eyes  on  the  «jun'8 
slanting  rays  where  they  lay  in  golden  splendor  on 
the  soft  green  of  the  garden  alleys ;  "  I,  too,  have 
stood  at  early  morn  and  at  dewy  eve  and  watched 
the  shadows  of  the  tall  mountains  sleeping  on  thf\ 
lake,  and  dreamed  of  fairy  palaces  in  those  quiet 
depths  where  the  peace  denied  to  mortals  here  on 
earth  might  perchance  be  found," — she  paused  a  mo- 
ment, then  repressed  a  sigh  that  was  struggling  up- 
wards from  her  heart,  and  went  on  with  nervous 
rapidity :  "  Yes,  my  dear  mother,  we  have  stood^ 
hat  is,  .fhave  stood 


i  :. 


'»'*» 


;>■ 


''■:■.! 


..».*■  ... 


;* 

:'..(= 


830 


OLD   AND    NEW  \    0?., 


"  Where  grows  the  wild-a*^,  and  a  time-stricken  willotr 
Looka  chidingly  down  on  tlie  mirth  of  the  billovr  ; 
As,  like  some  i»ny  child,  that  sad  moi»itor  scorning, 
Ii  ligliily  Iaugli8  bdck  to  iha  lau^li  of  ihe  morning."* 

The  stnile  faded  from  her  lip,  and  the  glow  of 
pleasurable  remembrance  from  her  cheek  as  she 
thought  of  "  the  love-lighted  eyes  that  hung  over 
the  wave,"  when  last  she  looked  forth  on  the  fairy 
scene.  She  asked  herself  how  much  of  the  exqui- 
site charm  of  tliat  well-remembered  scene  of  lonely 
beauty  was  due  to  the  companionship  she  then  en- 
joyed, and  she  m'r'uured  to  herself  "  Ah,  true  it  is 


iliHt  the  best  charms  of  nature  imiirove 


Wlien  we  see  them  reflected  from  looks  that  we  love.' 

And  just  as  true 

"  '  That  oft  even  joy  is  unheeded  and  lost 

For  want  of  some  heart  tbat  can  echo  it  near.*  " 

"  Bertha,  my  dear !"  said  her  mother,  who  had 
been  watching  the  rapid  change?  of  her  mobile  fea- 
tures, with  absorbing  interest,  "  Bertha,  my  dear ! 
you  seem  almost  to  forget  the  present  in  your  rapt 
devotion  to  the  past." 

"  I  can  never  forget  you^  mother,  present  or  past," 
said  Bertha  with  a  smile  of  ineffable  affection. 
"  But,  hark !  is  not  that  a  horse  coming  up  the 
avehw^  ?" 

It  was,  and  Bertha  hastening,  in  advance  of  her 
mother,  reached  the  front  piazza  in  time  to  welcome 

*  J.  J.  Callanan. 


■"^TT- 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


831 


Robert  Murray,  who  was  just  throwing  himself  from 
his  horse. 

"  Why,  Robert — Robert  Murray,"  said  Berlha 
with  unfeigned  cordiality,  "  can  it  be  you  back  so 
soon  ?     Welcome,  a  thousand  times  welcome  !" 

Poor  Robert — his  first  impulse  was  to  clasp  Ber- 
tha to  his  heart,  in  the  blissful  illusion  of  her  evi- 
dent joy  on  seeing  bim,  but,  alas  !  a  moment — half 
a  moment,  recalled  to  his  mind  the  saddening 
thought  that  it  was  only  as  a  sister  he  was  to  regard 
her,  and  with  a  sigh  that  went  to  Bertha's  heart,  he 
took  her  hand  and  raised  it  respectfully  to  his  lips, 
then  dropped  it  as  though  it  were  lead,  and  turned 
to  greet  her  mother,  who  had  just  made  her  ap- 
pearance. 

"  Why,  Robert,  my  dear  fellow !"  said  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  with  heart-warm  kindness,  "  how  glad 
I  am  to  see  you  ! — but  how  did  you  manage  to  get 
back  so  soon  ?'' 

"  On  business,  Madam  Von  Wiegel !  on  businef^s 
for  the  Colonel.  He  would  have  had  to  come  him- 
self, and  asked  me  if  I  had  any  objection  to  come 
in  his  place.  Oh!  he's  a.  glorious  old  fellow  ! — like 
a  father  to  us  youngsters,  and  I  do  believe  he  studies 
to  anticipate  our  wishes !"  - 

"  lie  has  anticipated  ours  as  well,  Robert — on  tliis 
occasion,"  said  the  old  lady,  regarding  the  young 
•oldier  through  her  glasses  with  a  beaming  smile, 
ivhile  Bertha  murmured  to  herself: 

"Oh!  beautiful  enthusiasm  of  youth,  how  pure, 


i .'. 


■->•■•' 


' '  »• '  t 


*  * 


>' ,; 


'i<  ."■, »« ..  1- , '.. 

■;■    •  ■■\*'i'.k'-: 


;  V!  •  ^    -:•#■  1, 


.  •"  -.i  •-* 


■■'!    t    •<■   'j  ■• 


•  "■I   V                    *-^  .   J. ,  ,  ^ 

.-  ,  -    -  •  -  '*-,-'''  '*v    •■ 

■-  -  •■  '■'*■  y  ■*■  ■  ' 
■';■  <^".,-f. 


833 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


how  fresh,  how  fervid  !  May  no  cloud  ever  darken 
that  bright  spirit — no  blight  ever  fall  on  that  loving 
young  heart !"  ^ 

"  When  did  you  arrive,  Robert?"  asked  Madam 
Von  Wiegel,  as  they  entered  the  parlor  together. 

"  Something  less  than  an  hour  ago" — he  stopped 
»nd  looked  at  Bertha,  then  quickly  added :  "  I  have 
but  twenty-four  hours  to  remain,  so  you  know  I  have 
to  make  the  most  of  my  opportunity." 

"  You  are  just  in  time  to  see  Major  Montague  and 
Captain  Bellew  before  they  leave." 

"  They  are  not  gone  yet,  then  ?"  said  Robert  with 
a  sudden  change  of  countenance. 

"  No,  but  they  must  leave  in  a  day  or  two — they 
are  to  join  their  regiment  at  Malta  to  proceed  direct 
to  India." 

"  To  India  ! — ha !"  Robert  turned  as  if  uncon- 
Bciously  to  look  at  Bertha,  but  Bertha  was  looking 
at  the  Japanese  missionary  on  the  mantel-piece,  and 
seemed  as  though  her  faculties  were  absorbed  in 
the  study  of  that  venerable  figure. 

*'  So  Don  Bellianus  is  going  to  war,"  said  Robert 
good-naturedly,  "  and  that  fine-hearted  fellow,  Bel- 
lew.  Well !  God  save  them  for  the  hearts  that  lov« 
them !"  His  voice  trembled,  but  he  mastered  his 
emotion,  and  added :  "  I  pity  the  soldier  who  has  no 
girl  to  leave  behind  him  when  the  voice  of  duty  calls 
him  to  the  post  of  danger." 

Bertha  was  not  so  deeply  engrossed  in  the  cor- 
templation  of  the  sculptured  image  before  her,  but 


:i 


% 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


833 


she  beard  these  words  and  felt  the  sorrowful  mean- 
iDg  that  did  not  meet  the  ear.  She  turned  and 
looked  at  Robert  with  a  smile  that  was  not  cheering. 

"Why,  Robert  ISIurray,"  said  she,  "how  can  yoii 
■ay  so  ? — I  think  be  is  much  more  to  be  pitied  who 
has  such  ties  to  bind  him,  when  the  hour  of  danger 
comes !" 

Robert  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  turned  to  answer 
Madam  Von  Wiegel,  who  had  just  asked  whether 
he  meant  to  spend  the  evening  with  them. 

"  I  believe  not,"  said  Robert  with  some  hesitation, 
"  having  but  the  one  evening  to  be  at  home,  I  am 
commissioned  rather  to  ask  you  and  Bertha  to  spend 
it  with  us.  My  father  is  to  send  the  carriage  bye- 
and-bye.'* 

"  I  am  sorry  it  will  not  be  in  our  power  to  go," 
said  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  "  for  I  asked  Major  Mon- 
tague and  Captain  Bellew  to  spend  the  evening  here, 
and  they  promised,  if  possible,  to  do  so.  I  will  send 
immediately  to  ask  your  father  and  Alice  to  join  our 
party." 

To  this  Robert  agreed  with  a  sort  of  good-hu- 
mored desperation  that  amused,  while  it  pained 
Bertha.  It  was  as  if  he  had  said  in  her  ear,  "  Yes, 
let  them  come  !  when  Greek  meets  Greek  then  is  the 
tug  of  war !" 

The  hour  that  passed  before  the  arrival  of  Mr. 
Murray  and  Alice  was  anything  but  pleasant  to 
Bertha.  Restless  and  anxious  as  she  was,  she  would 
have  given  anything    u  the  world  to  be  raone.  v<»* 


p'  '■ 


*  i 


i,. . , 


.. .  'iLiifei 


•7  ■■ 


H 


■Vii- 


;^, 


'¥  1 


W! 


^1 


■-**-,■ 


'■^^WSi 


ir~.^ 


I-">    n**^  .^■ 


834 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


there  was  Robert  Murray,  of  all  people  the  one 
whose  presence  was  the  least  desirable  at  that  par- 
ticular time.  She  felt  that  he  saw  and  fancied  ho 
understood  the  nervous  anxiety  to  which  she  was  a 
prey,  and  when  she  did  happen  to  meet  his  eyes, 
their  expression  was  so  sad  and  so  reproachful  that 
she  could  hardly  keep  from  bursting  into  tears.  At 
length  the  old  gentleman  and  Alice  came,  and  con- 
versation flowed  more  freely,  but  still  there  was  a 
cloud  over  all,  and  Bertha  felt  that  she  was  partly 
the  cause.  More  than  once  Mr.  Murray,  in  his  good- 
humored  way,  alluded,  as  he  was  wont,  to  the  pos- 
sibility of  an  alliance  between  the  houses,  but  none 
of  the  others  seemed  desirous  of  continuing  the 
subject,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that  it  gave  pain  both 
to  Robert  and  Bertha.  The  old  man  was  himself 
more  dejected  than  usual,  and  his  eyes  would  fill 
with  tears  as  they  rested  on  the  altered  face  of  his 
darling  son,  and  marked  how  the  sunny  brightness 
©f  youth  was  already  obscured,  and  melancholy  sat 
enthroned  on  the  so  lately  boyish  brow — melancholy 

"  Wilh  leaden  eye  that  loves  the  grouod." 
"  And  all  this,"  he  thought,  "  is  Bertha's  work- 
God  forgive  herl     I  would  hate  her  if  I  could,  but 
I  can't." 

Alice  experienced  much  the  same  feelings,  with, 
perhaps,  a  keener  sense  of  her  brother's  disappoint- 
ment, but  in  her  case  the  sympathy  was  almost 
equally  divided  between  Robert  and  Bertha — whoso 
sebret  struggles  she  saw,  though  without  under- 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


335 


standing  their  nature  or  extent.  As  for  Madam  Vou 
Wiegel  she  shared  to  a  painful  degree  her  daugh- 
ter's anxiety,  increased,  if  possible,  in  her  case,  by 
the  mystery  that  overhung  its  source.  Her  best 
wishes  were  with  Robert  Murray,  whom  slie  loved 
almost  as  a  son,  but  she  had  only  too  much  reason 
to  suspect  that  her  daughter's  rejection  of  his  suit 
was,  and  must  be,  final.  Like  Bertha,  and  perhaps 
each  of  the  others  in  a  lesser  degree,  she  watched 
with  intense  anxiety  for  the  appearance  of  the  two 
officers,  but  hour  after  hour  pasised  and  still  they 
came  not.  It  was  very  obvious,  to  her  mother,  at 
least,  and  not  a  little  surprising,  that  their  non-ap- 
pearance was  a  positive  relief  to  Bertha,  whose 
spirits  seemed  to  rise  as  the  evening  wore  away. 
There  was  a  hollow  ring,  however,  in  the  tones  of 
her  mirth  and  a  strange  light  in  her  eyes,  that  her 
mother  was  not  slow  to  observe,  and  even  Robert 
as  he  took  his  place  beside  her  at  supper  whispered, 
"  Bertha,  you  are  ill  at  ease — would  that  your  peace 
were  in  my  keeping!" 

*'  It  is  safer  in  my  own,"  responded  Bertha  with  a 
smile  that  was  bright  enough  to  deceive  most  peo- 
ple, but  it  did  not  deceive  Robert.  lie  exerted 
himself,  however,  to  dispel  the  gloo'^n  thnt  was 
again  creeping  over  the  little  party,  remarking  at 
the  same  time  that  as  two  places  were  vacant  at  the 
board,  it  devolved  on  those  present  to  make  up  for 
the  deficiency — as  far  as  possible,  he  pointedly  added. 
,    "  Confound  them  I"  rnutt-ered  the  old  gentleman, 


i , 


^'* 


^M 


rl:\ 


'^^*'* 


1> 


336 


OLD   AND    NEW 


OR, 


'  ) 


;•    <       ■    ■  : 


1  '''t*    • 


y  ^ 


J* 


'4'  ■    ':fm:::.   ■ 


who  had  carefully  abstained  from  any  allusion  to  tlio 
expected  guests,  "I  wish  people  wouldn't  make 
promises  unless  they  mean  to  keep  them.  I'm  soi  ly 
Bellow  isn't  here,  though,  but  as  for  his  Excellency 
Major  Montague,  I  must  say  his  absence  is  a  cordial. 
The  sight  of  him  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  were  so  mnch 
cream  in  a  freezer — it  actually  does." 

"  Father !"  said  Alice  somewhat  too  earnestly 
Bertha  thought,  "  Father  I  how  can  you  speak  so  of 
Major  Montague? — cold  and  reserved  as  he  is— ^ 
proud  even,  if  you  will — there  is  something  about 
him  that  makes  you  love  him — or  at  le^st  makes  you 
feel  as  if  you  could  love  him,  oh !  very  dearly — would 
he  but  let  you !" 

Though  Bertha's  cheek  flushed  at  the  tone  of 
feeling  in  which  Alice  spoke,  she  thanked  her  by  a 
smile  that  made  the  gentle  girl  happy.  Perhaps 
Bertha's  superior  intelligence  penetrated  the  kindly 
motive  that  underlay  her  praise  of  the  absent,  sincere 
though  that  praise  was.  ' 

Robert  was  silent.  He  was  far  too  generous  and 
high-minded  to  attempt  underrating  a  man  whose 
vast  superiority  he  could  not  conceal  from  himself, 
merely  because  he  was  not  present.  But  in  this 
instance  he  was  also  restrained  by  a  motive  of  deli- 
cacy that  was  fully  appreciated  by  her  whose  good 
opinion  was  dearer  to  him  than  the  breath  of  life. 

The  supper  was  soon  over,  and  the  Murrays  did 
not  remain  long  after,  but  they  would  not  go  with- 
out a  promisB  from  the  ladies  to  dine  with  them  «b 


wmm 


TASTK    VERars    FASHION. 


337 


the  following  day,  as  Robert  had  to  leave  by  the 
evening  train  for  Washington. 

Wiien  they  were  gone  Madam  Von  Wiegel  thre\< 
Dack  the  heavy  damask  curtains  from  one  of  the 
windows,  and  the  soft  moonlight  streamed  in, 
"  What  a  lovely  night,  Bertha !"  she  said,  after  a 
moment's  silence.  "Lovely,  indeed,  mother!  it  is 
like  a  dream  of  peace !"  and  they  both  were  silent 
as  they  stood  together  with  Bertha's  arm  resting 
lightly  on  her  mother's. 

"  I  wonder  our  military  friends  did  not  come," 
said  the  mother,  at  length,  perhaps  divining  her 
daughter's  thought. 

"  So  do  not  T,  mother,"  was  Bertha's  answer,  "  I 
hardly  thought  they  would." 

"  And  why,  my  dearest  daughter  ?" 

"  That  I  cannot  tell  you,  my  own  dear  mother, 
but  their  absence  to-night  renews  a  settled  convic- 
tion on  my  mind,  and  throws  me  back  where  I  was 
three  months  ago,  with  a  barbed  arrow  in  my  heart, 
and  no  earthly  hope  to  cheer  me  except  your  precious 
love." 

Madim  Yon  Wiegel  turned  quickly,  and  was 
fihockec.  to  see  the  pallid  hopeless  dejection  too 
plainly  \  'sible  on  Bertha's  face.  "  Bertha !  my  heart's 
one  treasure !"  said  she,  drawing  her  to  a  seat  on  a 
Bofa  near,  "  this  ignorance — this  suspense — must  not, 
cannot  continue  !  tell  me,  I  beseech  you,  what  this 
trouble  is  that  weighs  so  heavy  on  your  heart  ! — who 
ao  fit  to  share  your  sorrows,  if  sorrows  you  have,  as 


'*     * 

"il^',-.       ■'■■ 

*<  ' 

I 


OT-D    ANT)    NKW  ;    OR, 


V,; 


the  mother  who  nursed  vou  at  her  breast — who  lovof 

» 

you  more  than  herself?" 

"  I  know  it — I  feel  it,  mother !"  said  Bortlia  with 
forced  composure,  "  and  1  mean  to  tell  you  all  this 
very  night — ay,  even  now  you  shall  see  the  dark 
shadow  that  overhangs  my  life.  It  will  not  take 
long  to  raise  tho  curtain !" 

Turning  her  back  to  the  gaslight  and  her  face  to 
the  mild  beams  from  the  window,  she  paused  a  while 
to  collect  her  scattered  tht)ughc8,  then  began  as  fol- 
lows : 

'*  My  life  at  Castle  Mahon  was,  I  need  not  tell  you, 
a  happy  one — too  happy,  indeed,  for  this  probationary 
world  of  ours.  Pleasant  it  is  to  look  back  upon— 
ay,  pleasant  as  a  dream  of  hope.  To  you  I  need  not 
say  that  there 

"  * All  is  flow'ry,  wild  and  sweet,' 

And  love  is  not  wanting.  Love,  the  tenderest  and 
most  sincere,  surrounded  me,  as  you  well  know, 
from  the  earliest  dawn  of  infancy,  and  at  Castle 
Mahon,  after  my  dear  grandmother  prevailed  on  you 
and  my  father  to  leave  me  with  hei,  the  genial  in 
uence  increased  rather  than  diminished,  for  whereas 
I  had  only  you  and  my  dear,  dear  father  to  love  and 
cherish  me  in  my  childhood's  home  by  the  Rhine,  I 
had  many  hearts  as  warm,  and  true  friends  as  kind 
and  as  indulgent  in  my  girlhood's  home  by  the  lovely 
Lee.  My  grandmother,  indeed,  went  far  to  spoi' 
Eveleon  and  myself  by  her  excessive  kindness,  but 
in  justice  to  her  precious  memory  I  muat  say  that 


'.   '    fix 


TA8TR    VERSUS    FASHION. 


339 


her  judicious  and  enlightened  teachings  made  us 
proof  against  the  otherwise  injurious  effects  of  her 
more  than  maternal  tenderness.  Oh  !  slie  was  a 
woman  of  many,  many  gifts,  my  ever-dear  *  grand* 
mamma,'  as  we  fondly  used  to  call  her." 

"  Heaven  rest  her  soul  in  mercy  !"  murmured 
Madam  Von  tViegel  as  she  wiped  away  the  tears 
that  Bertha's  heart-warm  praise  of  her  mother  had 
called  forth  ;  "  Heaven  rest  her  soul  in  peace,  she 
teas,  indeed,  all  that  you  say,  my  daughter !  but  pray 
go  on  !" 

"  You  know  my  grandmother  would  not  hear  o! 
us  girls  being  sent  to  a  boarding-school,  though 
Uncle  Gerald  and  Aunt  Helen  were  most  anxious  to 
have  us  go  to  the  Ursuline  Convent  in  Cork — a  go- 
verness was  accordingly  brought  into  the  house  for 
Eveleen*8  education  and  mine,  and  this  lady,  Mrs. 
Kilally,  remained  with  us  till  I  was  twenty  and  Eve- 
leen  eighteen.  She  was  a  widow — a  woman  of  su- 
perior attainments,  with  talents  of  a  high  order,  and 
tastes  the  most  refined.  She  had  travelled  much  in 
her  earlier  years,  for  her  husband  had  inherited  a 
considerable  property,  which  he  unfortunately 
squandered  away  at  the  gaming-table,  then  drank 
himself  to  death,  and  left  his  *■  Idow  to  her  own 
resources — a  tjood  riddance  for  her,  all  things  con- 
flidered,and  I  believe  she  thought  so  herself,  for  she 
always  seemed  to  me  contented  if  not  happy.  Well  I 
it  was  just  about  the  time  that  Mrs.  Kilally  left  us 
that  we  ^]\  went  one  dav  to  visit  Dunmore  Castle 


5^' : 


■  ♦.        < 


'!#?Si^^\. 


-  «' 


:.< 


►^  '  ;■■■ 


..;  t 


840 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


and  its  far-famed  demesne.  You  know  the  cool- 
ness that  existed  between  the  Montagues  and  our 
family- " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  Bertha !  and  it  dated  from  the 
breaking  off  of  my  engagement  with  Lord  Dunmore, 
of  which  I  told  you  a  few  weeks  since." 

"Well!  I  never  knew,  and  to  say  the  truth,  T 
never  cared  to  know,  why  it  was  that  the  intercourse 
between  the  families  had  been  so  suddenly  and  en- 
tirely broken  off.  But  we  young  people  had  heard 
so  much  of  the  fine  old  mansion  and  the  picture- 
gallery  and  the  grand  old  woods  and  sylvan  glades 
of  the  noble  park  where  the  red-deer  strayed  at 
will,  that  we  persuaded  Uncle  Walter  to  take  us 
there  to  see  the  sights,  and  as  Lord  Dunmore  was 
then  dead.  Uncle  Gerald  did  not  oppose  our  wishes. 
It  was  on  that  occasion,  my  dear  mother,"  added 
Bertha  after  a  pause,  "  that  I  first  saw  Edgar  Mon- 
tague. He  was  in  deep  mourning  for  his  father, 
and  when  he  rose  on  oar  entrance  into  the  library, 
where  he  had  been  writing,  1  thought  it  was  some 
illusion  of  my  poetic  fancy,  for  I  had  seen  such 
visions  in  my  dreams,  but  never  before  in  duli 
reality.  You  see  him  as  he  is  now,  mother,  but 
Btriking  as  his  toute  enscmb/c  is,  you  can  form  no  idea 
of  the  fascination  that  hung  around  him  under  tlio 
SI )rt cuing  influence  of  his  recent  heavy  sorrow — tho 
•  Icop  melancholy  impressed  on  every  perfect  foi- 
Lure — the  touching  sadness  of  his  finely-modulatetl 
voice,  aud  the  listlesf,  hopeless  despondency  of  hl^ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


341 


whole  demeanor.  Oh !  Edgar  1"  she  said  with  a 
passionate  burst  of  sorrow,  burying  her  face  in  her 
hands,  "  Oh  Edgar  Montague !  how  I  pitied  you 
then, — how " 

"How  you  loved  him  afterwards!"  said  hei 
mother,  drawing  her  to  her. 

"  Mother,  I  did  not  say  I  loved  him,"  said  Bertha, 
struggling  to  recover  her  composure,  "surely  you 
do  not  think  I  would  unsought  be  won." 

"  No,  Bertha !  I  could  not  possibly  think  that-* 
but  were  you  unsought  ?" 

"  I  know  not  that  I  could  say  so  with  truth,  my 
dear  mother,  but  it  is  quite  certain  that  although 
Edgar  seemed  from  the  first  to  take  a  particular 
pleasure  in  my  society,  he  never  spoke  directly  of 
love^  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term.  He  did  the 
honors  of  his  house  to  us  that  first  day  of  our  ac- 
quaintance with  that  stately  grace  which  you  see  is 
natural  to  him,  and  seemed  half  to  forget  his  sorrow 
in  the  pleasure  of  showing  us  all  that  he  judged 
worthy  of  our  attention.  "X'ou  have  no  idea  how 
delightful  a  companion  he  is  when  he  chooses  to 
lay  aside  the  mantle  of  reserve  and  unbend  from 
that  aristocratic  lut/uteur  which  is  apt  ♦o  prejudice 
people  against  him.  He  has  seen  much,  and  read 
much,  and  thought  a  great  deal  more,  and  his  mind 
has  a  range  altogether  beyond  the  common  run  of 
every-day  mortals,  and  there  is,  .above  all,  under 
ihat  calm,  cold  exterior,  a  depth  of  feeling  that 
fprings  in  part  from  his  poetic  temprriTeixt     Tn 


■■^':}K\::.\i 


<■:  d. 


ff 


■!■:■ 


':«i}t.^^^:>:t^,; 


i> 


342 


OLD    AND    NEW  1    0?., 


'   ".*>.■  tl-  •*  ■  ll 


-/;• 


>•,•»'•' 


>^;.  :    '^ 


■P 

k 

■O' 

■  S 

'f^l^ 

:» ;■•;  vv>^;% 


i'l 


v^  ' 


It? 

•  ^  ■■ 

short,  my  dear  mother,  I  saw  in  Edgar  Montague, 
the  nearest  approach  I  had  ever  seen  to  that  Sir 
<yliarles  Grandison,  whose  imaginary  perfections,  as 
described  by  the  graphic  pen  of  Richardson,  had 
quite  won  my  girlish  heart,  and  thousands  of  other 
girlish  hearts,  too  !  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Ed- 
gar wa*  quite  so  perfect,  but  he  was  perfect  enougl), 
/  thought,  for  any  woman,  to  love  and  admire. 
Aunt  Helen  was  delighted  with  his  graceful  urban- 
ity, and  Eveleen  declared  he  ought  to  have  been 
born  a  prince,  and  thought  he  would  make  a  charm- 
ing hero  of  romance,  but  like  our  gentle  Alice,  I 
fancy  she  was  rather  afraid  of  him,  and  he,  on  tlie 
other  hand,  treated  her  as  he  would  a  playful  child." 

"But,  Bertha!"  said  her  mother,  "  how  did  our 
friend  come  to  play  the  host,  then  ? — you  told  me  he 
was  the  younger  son — I  know  Lord  Dunmore  left 
two." 

"  The  elder  brother  was  attached  to  the  Spanish 
embassy  at  the  time  of  his  father's  death,  which,  you 
know,  occurred  quite  unexpectedly,  and  as  the  news 
did  not  reach  Madrid  till  after  he  was  interred,  he 
thought  it  unnecessary  to  ask  leave  of  absence. 
Edgar  had  but  just  returned  after  spending  a  morth 
with  Lorf*  7)ulimore  in  Madrid;  he  had  also vis'.t'^d 
Grenada  and  Cordova,  and  it  was  joy  to  hear  him 
describe  the  scenes  of  old  renown, — the  faded  glories 
of  the  Alhambra,  and  the  other  Moorish  remains  ho 
had  seen  beneath  the  deep  blue  sky  and  amid  the 
orange  groves  of  Spain.     I  believe  he  found  me  the 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


Si3 


best  listener,  for  very  soon  he  addressed  himself 
particularly  to  me,  and  spoke  to  me  as  he  did  to  no 
other,  of  his  own  feelings  and  impressions.  And  op- 
portunities were  not  wanting,  for  Uncle  Waller  and 
Aunt  Helen  pressed  Mr.  Montague  to  visit  us  at 
Castle  Mahon,  and  he  lost  no  time  in  doing  so. 
Uncle  Gerald  and  grandmamma  were  not  quite  so 
much  taken  with  him  at  first  as  we  hoped  and  ex- 
pected, but  it  suited  his  humor  to  make  himself 
agreeable  to  them,  and,  of  course,  he  succeeded  to  a 
marvel.  Dear  grandmamma!  how  she  loved  to  hear 
him  tell  of  the  far-oflf  lands  he  had  visited  with  his 
tutor  immediately  after  leaving  Old  Trinity,  the 
strange  sights  he  had  seen,  and,  above  all,  the  frag- 
ments of  legendary  lore  he  had  gathered  by  the 
way.  We  soon  found,  too,  that  he  excelled  in 
music,  and  his  flute  lent  its  charm  to  many  a  blissful 
hour  in  the  drawing-room  or  saloon,  as  his  clarionet 
full  many  a  time  awoke  the  echoes  of  the  night  as 
we  glided  over  the  moonlit  water  between  the 
picturesque  banks  of  our  lovely  river.  But  he  came 
not  always  alone,  for  on  one  of  our  visits  to  Dun- 
more  Castle,  he  introduced  to  us  his  friend  Bellew, 
who  was,  at  once,  admitted  into  our  circle  and  be- 
came a  prime  favorite  with  Uncle  Gerald,  in  particu- 
lar, who  took  pleasure  in  calling  him  his  namesake. 

He  did  not  belong  originally  to  our  county * 

'*  Why,  of  course  not.  Bertha !"  interrupted  her 
mother,  *'  I  never  knew  of  any  Bellews  there.  Let 
me  see,  though  1 — I  thiok  ono  of  the  Miss  Sulllvans 


■•'^>-:*;-''J»- 


;  Jt. 


i  :■ 


^  •  t 


■    '<? 


?•     ( 

.4  .'  ' 


li!^'^^^ 


■'  'i 


'vl^ 


i,,' 


I  ■":':■  v     ■  ■  *» 
,'  ■'i  *!'  r  Vi 


«!■  f'»    V,    ^^  .<>:.•   '■^  . 
''*?    <«,    ^iy-J'J-V     ■"►.■5 


r 


1% 


844 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


of House  married  a  Mr.  Bellew  in  the  countv 

Dublin  or  Kildare,  or  somewhere  there — a  branch, 
if  I  remember  right,  of  the  Bellews  of  Louth." 

*'  Precisely,  mother ! — how  clear  your  memory 
is ! — and  our  lively  friend  Gerald  is  the  son  of  that 
Rhoda  Sullivan  to  whom  you  have  referred.  Well 
with  this  agreeable  addition  to  our  society,  we  ex- 
tended our  sphere  of  pleasure  and  made  excursions 
to  various  parts  of  the  Island — we  even  journeyed 
to  the  Giant's  Causeway,  and  saw  the  Atlantic  wave 
wrestling  with  those  pillared  rocks  that  form  the 
northern  barrier  of  the  Emerald  Isle — we  visited) 
too,  the  Balbec  of  Ireland,  the  city  of  the  dead 
amongst  the  Wicklow  Mountains;  we  mused  on  the 
nothingness  of  fame  and  grandeur  amid  the  desert 
scenes  of  classic  Clonmacnoise,  and  drank  in  poetry 
from  the  fairy  beauty  of  Killarney's  lakes  and  '  In- 
nisfallen's  lovely  isle.'  Ah !  there,  indeed,  it  is  that 
"  *  Lost  in  the  future,  the  soul  wanders  on, 
And  all  of  t*  is  life  but  its  sweetness  is  gone.' 

"  Our  party  had  not  long  returned  from  this  visit  to 
the  world-famous  Lakes  when  death  settled  down  on 
the  towers  of  Castle-Mahon,  pnd  my  dear,  dear 
grandmother  was  called  hence  to  receive  the  reward 
of  a  well-spent  life,  leaving  a  void  in  our  circle  that 
the  youngest  of  us  keenly  felt  for  many  a  dreary 
month. 

"  As  if  with  a  view  to  divert  our  minds  from  the 
heavy  loss  we  had  sustained,  and  enliven  the  gloom 
of  our  heartfelt  mourning,   Mr.   Montague  aekcd 


WM 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


845 


and  received  permission  to  bring  his  brother's  in- 
tended br'de  to  see  us."  Here  Bertl\a  paused 
again,  and  leaning  back  on  her  seat  pressed  her 
hands  on  her  eyes  as  though  to  shut  out  some  un- 
welcome object.  It  was  some  moments  before  she 
resumed  her  story,  and  her  mother  made  no  attempt 
to  hurry  her. 

*'  Our  new  acquaintance,  Lady  Susan  Blackwood, 
was  the  third  daughter  of  a  Cromwellian  earl  whose 
name  you  must  remember, — Lord  Milhaven " 

"  Remember  it ! — yes,  indeed,  I  do — and  a  bad 
breed  they  were,  those  Blackwoods — I  knew  that 
same  Earl  of  Milhaven  when  he  was  Viscount  Brere- 
ton,  long  before  his  father's  death,  and,  by-the-bye  1 
he  and  Harry  Montague  were  great  friends.  They 
had  been  at  Cambridge  together,  and  were,  I  believe, 
fellow-graduates — their  friendship,  though,  could 
only  be  accounted  for  by  the  axiom  that  extremes 
meet,  for  no  two  could  be  more  unlike,  /could 
never  bear  Brereton,  who  always  gave  me  the  im- 
pression of  a  splendid  but  venomous  snake.  He 
was  so  smooth,  so  insidious,  and  so  designing,  yet 
graceful  and  exceedingly  handsome  withal.  Attrac- 
tive he  was,  undoubtedly,  most  dangerously  attrac- 
tive, as,  I  fear,  many  found  to  their  cost." 

"  Why,  mother,"  exclaimed  Bertha  with  intewise 
eagerness,  "  one  would  think  it  was  hh  daughter — 
I  mean  Lady  Susan's — portrait  you  were  drawing. 
She  was  about  two-and-twenty  when  I  first  saw  her., 
and  I  oonfess  she  dazzled  me  at  first  with  her  bright, 


,  f. .  I 


-.'•^ 


>o  ^■■•'' 


'f.  /■ 


',  ;:  ■'■'■',' \*ifi':-      '  ■ 
;  "r:  ■  .-iH'-  •,-'•■■■■•'. 


'  •  'A  ■''-'  ■■■**^-;t.*  -  '■" 


»     IS  ■«.'! 


,'  ,\    •     ►■•.■,,-'.'       '    ■ 


846 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


gazelle-like  beauty,  her  pretty  airs  of  coquetry,  and 
the  sparkling  wit  that  dropped  from  her  tongue  and 
flashed  from  her  black  eyes  whenever  she  chose  to 
make  a  display,  and  that  was  pretty  often,  especially 
when  gentlemen  were  present.  She  could  languish, 
too,  with  the  prettiest  grace  imaginable,  and  her 
simplicity  was  at  times  entirely  captivating — fancy 
Kate  Kearney  and  Nora  Creina  wrapped  in  one, 
and  their  playful  charms  and  artless  graces  wielded 
by  a  well-tutored,  highly-educated  young  damsel 
with  the  prestige  of  noble  blood  to  crown  all  her 
potent  attractions.  It  pleased  her  lively  ladyship 
to  cultivate  our  acquaintance,  for  what  purpose  I 
never  then  thought  of  considering,  never  doubting 
the  sincerity  of  iier  professions.  Lady  Susan's  de- 
meanor towards  Mr.  Montague  was  characterized 
by  that  easy  familiarity  which  became  their  relative 
positions,  quite  sisterly,  m  fact,  and  yet,  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  connecting  link  between  them  was  not 
kept  in  sight  as  one  might  reasonably  expect.  Lord 
Dunmore  was  seldom  mentioned,  and  his  return 
rarely  alluded  to.  This  early  excited  my  attention, 
and  I  could  by  no  means  understand  it,  nor  neither 
could  Aunt  Helen  when  we  talked  the  matter  over, 
till  one  day,  being  all  at  Dunmore  Castle,  Lady 
Harriet  Blackwood,  one  of  Lady  Susan's  elder  sis- 
ters, asked  me  if  I  had  ever  seen  Lord  Dunmorc's 
portrait,  and  on  my  answering  in  the  negative,  she 
took  me  to  a  rather  obscure  corner  in  the  picture- 
gallery  and  said  laughingly,  *  There  he  is  ! — what  do 


•aft' s 


er  SIS- 
.1, 


TASTE    VERSUS   FASHION. 


341 


you  think  of  Susan's  taste  ?'  I  did  not  say  what  I 
thought,  but  I  felt  the  blood  forsaking  my  check, 
and  a  tremor  creeping  over  my  frame.  In  the  pale, 
sallow  face  before  me,  deeply  marked  with  the 
small-pox,  I  could  discover  no  trace — not  even  the 
slightest,  of  the  manly  beauty  for  which  these  Mon- 
tagues were,  and  are,  as  yor  '-now,  distinguished. 
The  riddle  was,  in  part,  solved,  out  not  quite,  not  to 
conviction.  Meanwhile  Mr.  Montague's  demeanor 
towards  myself  was  such  as  might  have  flattered  me 
into  the  belief  that  I  had  an  interest  in  his  heart ; 
he  still  seemed  to  take  a  certain  [>leasure  in  discours- 
ing with  me  of  things  high  and  even  holy,  and  I 
fancied  at  times  that  his  lofty  intellect  had  caught 
glimpses  of  Catholic  truth.  How  fervently  I  prayed 
that  he  might  be  sruided  to  a  knowlodr^e,  which 
alone  was  wanting,  it  seemed  to  me,  to  make  him 
all  my  highest  aspirations  would  have  desired.  Vain 
dreams !  hopes  too  rudely  shattered,  the  hour  was 
at  hand  when  the  darkness  of  doubt,and  the  cold- 
ness of  distrust  took  the  place  of  b«>th.  But  I  see 
you  are  weary,  mother !  and  as  Jan  and  Betty  must 
be  waiting  for  the  night-prayer,  had  we  not  better 
postpone  the  little  that  remains  of  my  story  till  we 
have  dismissed  them  for  the  night?" 

"  I  am  glad  you  have  reminded  me  of  what  T  was 
inexcusably  forgetting,  Bertha !"  her  mother  replied; 
"  however  anxious  I  may  be  to  hear  the  sequel  of 
your  recital,  we  must  get  prayers  over  and  let  Jan 
and  Betty  get  to  rest." 


r,  .;. 


1."  * 


^If    <- 


^  ■> 


■  ■■  ^. 

t.  •  >  ■' '  ■■ ., 

■t  -J*  .ir    ■  < 


> 


liitfii- 

>:  i  ■  '.muim^f- 


I'llifiii;' 


'^'f^'.Y- 


•■   -.       h-  ;ii|  •»  ;   ._, 

■l!.'i-- 


. ;  v-l  .  ;  1  - 


848 


OLD    IND    NEW  ;     OR, 


They  then  repaired  to  the  oratory,  and  the  worthy 
couple  were  summoned  from  below  in  no  very  good 
humor  at  being  kept  up  so  late,  for  it  was  eleven 
o'clock,  and  that  was  a  very  late  hour  in  that  quiet, 
well-ordered  household. 


■i^-"' 


\  -.n 


tAflfrS    VERSUS    FASHIOIf. 


849 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 


THE   DRUID's   "UAIR. 


When  the  servants  were  dismissed  for  the  night, 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  and  her  daughter  waited  in  the 
Oratory  to  perform  their  private  devotions,  and  then 
Bertha  attended  her  mother,  as  ufiual,  to  her  apart- 
ment. 

"  Now  my  dear !  will  you  finish  your  story  ?'* 
said  the  elder  lady,  placing  herself  in  a  chair ;  '  I  am 
so  anxious  to  hear  the  sequel  that  I  am  sure  I  could 
not  sleep  in  this  state  of  suspense." 

"  I  fear  you  will  be  none  the  better  to-morrow, 
my  dear  mother,  for  such  an  unusually  late  vigil, 
but  seeing  that  you  are  so  desirous  of  hearing  what 
is  to  come,  I  suppose  we  must  extend  it  a  little  far- 
ther—it will  be  only  a  little,  for  there  is  not  much 
to  be  told  now."  So  saying,  she  seated  herself  on 
a  tabouret  at  her  mother's  feet,  and  with  her  arm 
resting  on  her  knee,  resumed  : 

"  Things  were  as  I  told  you,  ma  ckere  maman 
when  one  day  as  we  strolled  through  the  grounds 
at  Castle  Mahon,  Lady  Susan  with  her  arm  in  mine 
— for  her  ladyship  seemed  to  have  taken  quite  a 
fancy  to  my  insignificant  self — we  found  ourselves 
all  at  once  in  that  pleasant  lawn  by  the  hazel  copse 
where  stands  the  Druid's  Chair.     Mr.  Montague, 


*'f: 


XL 


P-IJIIII  f  I  l,,J«l«ll 


i^-^' 


850 


OLD    AND    NEW  1     OR, 


'^  *^U' 


i 


''.,   •' 

■■-    f,  ' 

.;;,'./i'n 

J 

^f.r^fl''/ 

-^■=f  - 

■,;<) 

-  t 

--, 

L 

,  • ' '' 

*\H     :. 

11 

-■w-y--" 

Struck  with  the  beauty  of  the  scene  far  and  near 
observed  to  me  in  rather  a  low  tone  : 

"  '  What  a  taste  for  the  beautiful  those  oKl-world 
people  had,  after  all  !  I  have  remarked,  and  doubt- 
less you  have,  too,  Miss  Von  Wiegel,  that  these 
pagan  remains  are,  in  most  instances,  finely  situated.' 

"  The  answer  I  was  going  to  make  was  forestalled 
by  Lady  Susan  :  '  What  a  comical  sight  it  must 
have  been  to  see  those  queer  old  Druids  in  theii 
white  robes,  and  mistletoe-crowns,  with  a  cowled 
cloak  by  way  of  promenade-dress  when  they  jour 
neyed  abroad  from  their  ancient  woods.' 

"  *  Comical  indeed  1'  said  Uncle  Walter  who  was 
of  the  party,  looking  back  over  his  shoulder— 
you  know  how  precise  he  is  in  regard  to  the  use  of 
words,  and  withal  so  satirical.  '  I  know  not  huw 
comical  the  *  queer  old  Druids'  might,  have  appeared 
in  their  priestly  garb,  but  I  think  your  ladyship 
would  have  looked  divine  as  a  priestess  of  that  old 
rite.* 

"*  You  flatter  me,  Mr.  Walter!'  said  her  ladyship 
affectedly.  *  You  are  really  more  than  kind  ! — 
what  say  you,  Edgar  V  would  I  have  made  a  tolerable 
priestess — or  a  vestal  ?'  she  added,  speaking  across 
me  to  Mr.  Montague  with  one  of  those  arch  glances 
which  shot  like  an  electric  flash  through  her  long 
eilken  lashes. 

" '  Or  a  pythoness,'  said  Montague  in  a  tone  neither 
jest  nor  earnest. 

"  *  A  pythoness  ! — ha  !  it  is  a  good  thought !'  cried 


/I 


TASTE    VRR31S    FASHION. 


351 


La<iy  Susan  with  more  eagerness  than  1  thought  the 
occasion  required.  '  Surely  yes — a  pythoness  1' 
and  she  suddenly  threw  into  those  wonderful  eyes 
of  hers  a  look  of  such  wild  inspiration  that  we  all 
stood  entranced. 

"'Prophesy,  O  pybil !'  said  Edgar  Montague, 
'  tell  us  of  the  absent — can  thine  eye  penetrate 
space  and  scan  the  distance?' 

"  4  rich  glow  came  suddenly  to  Lady  Susan's  beau- 
tiful cheek,  then  fading  left  it  pale  as  alabaster.  She 
was  about  to  answer  the  question  when  Eveleen 
broke  in  girl-like  with  joyous  excitement, '  Wouldn't 
it  be  delightful,  Bertha,  to  have  a  sort  of  littlu 
private  masquerade  here  one  of  the  first  moonlight 
nights  we  have-^let  us  play  Druids  and  Druideases 
in  character.' 

"'And  give  judgment  d  la  Brehon  from  yonder 
chair,'  said  Montague  with  a  smile.  '  I  second  the 
motion,  Miss  Eveleen.  What  says  your  fair  cousin  ?' 
meaning  me. 

" '  My  fair  cousin  wouldn't  dare  dissent  from  any 
proposition  of  mine,'  said  Eveleen  in  a  tone  of 
authority. 

"  '  Not  from  this  one,  certainly  !'  I  replied.  '  You 
deserve  the  company's  tlianks,  ina  ckkre,  for  so 
leli  1.0U8  an  idea.  I  am  sure  Aunt  Helen  will  be 
much  pleased  with  the  project,  and  we  shall  ask 
your  sisters.  Lady  Susan,  to  assist  on  the  occasion.* 

"'Oh !  I  c  n  answer  for  them,'  said  her  ladyship 
carelessly.     "  If  Edgar  will  drive  us  over  to  Mount 


»;..-.,  ,.  . 


♦  >" 


fp^ 


hi    .",   ,»         v 


rf,    -V 


-«<'.;•■ 


■;■> 


i- ;; 


.is?! 


.    r   ! 
1 


■'.<  V* 


."^  .'-jAi   :f 


852 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OK 


Brereton  to-morrow — or  this  evening — I  know  th« 
girls  will  be  most  happy  to  corae,  especially  Harriet 
and  Louisa,  and  I  thiuk  my  father  might  posssibly 
come  himself.  You  know  he  is  home  for  the  Easter 
recess.' 

"  '  You  know  I  am  but  a  poor  cavalicro  servantc^^ 
was  the  reply,  'but,  of  course,  if  you  ladies  lay  your 
joint  commands  on  me  T  musi  resign  myself  to  the 
necessity.* 

"  Lady  Susan  hastily  withdrew  her  arm  from  mint 
and  gliding  round  to  Montague  said  something  in  a 
low  voice,  so  low  that  it  reached  no  ear  but  his  own- 
She  held  up  her  taper  finger  with  sportive  grace,  and 
Montague  bowed  his  acquiescence,  though  I  could 
see  without  actually  looking  at  him  that  he  changed 
color  and  bit  his  lip.  Uncle  Walter  went  heartily 
into  our  project  and,  as  I  expected,  so  did  the  other 
dear  ones  at  home.  Ah !  they  were  all  easily  per- 
suaded to  go  into  anything  that  promised  pleasure 
and  amusement  to  the  younger  members  of  their 
house  and  their  visitors." 

"  But,  Bertha,  my  dear  1"  said  her  mother,  "  I 
wonder  your  uncles  and  your  Aunt  Helen  agreed  to 
have  the  Druid's  Chair  occupied  in  the  way  you 
mention.  Tiiey,  at  least,  knew  well  how  many  su- 
perstitions clung  around  that  ancient  seat. 

"  Why,  mother,  you  speak  so  gravely,"  said  Ber- 
tha, "  that  one  would  be  apt  to  think  you  a  believer 
m  those  fiutastic  superstitions." 

**  Believing  or  not,"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


353 


)m  mint 


*  VFhen  I  was  a  girl  it  would  have  been  hard  to  per* 
Buadc  rayself  or  any  of  ray  young  companions  to  sit 
ill  the  Druid's  Chair.  Tales  of  suddc^n  death,  or 
other  mishap  following  on  such  rashness,  were  so 
common  that  in  spitv^  of  our  reason  we  young  peo- 
ple, at  least,  were  kept  in  awe  of  the  rud'ily -formed 
old  chair.     I  wonder  Helen  didn't  tell  you." 

**  Why,  of  course,  they  all  told  us,  mother,  and 
what  is  more,  most  of  us  knew  it  as  well  as  they 
did,  but  we  only  laughed  at  the  idea  of  the  old  stone 
seat  being  '  unlucky'  (as  it  was  called),  and  I  believe 
the  ill-repute  in  which  it  stood  served  to  excite  our 
interest  in  the  unsightly  though  venerable  relic." 

''  Well !  the  appointed  evening  came,  and  so  did 
the  Earl  of  Milhaven,  and  his  three  daughters,  Lady 
Harriet,  Lady  Lucy  and  Lady  Elizabeth.  Lady 
Susan  was,  of  course,  cliez  nous  with  us,  and  had 
been  staying  for  weeks  before  at  Castle  Mahon. 
The  Countess  had  died  some  three  years  before, 
and  I  believe  the  still  handsome  and  attractive  Earl 
would  fain  have  installed  one  of  us  girls  in  that  dis- 
tingaish^d  position,  but  it  so  happened  that  neither 
of  as  had  any  ambition  to  wear  a  coronet  or  win  a 
place  in  the  next  edition  of  the  Peerage.  His  only 
son.  Lord  Brereton,  was  then  at  Cambridge,  so  the 
gay  father  of  the  family  when  at  home — which  he 
generally  was  when  the  House  of  Lords  was  not  in 
session — (to  do  him  justice,  Lord  Milhaven  was  never 
aL  absentee  from  choice) — took  upon  himself,  nothin 
loath,  I  fancy,  the  task  of  escorting  his  daughteni 


It 

n 


.*'., 


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.•■1;'  •• 


. 

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S51 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


whither  they  would — and  especially,  as  I  said,  to 
Castle  Mahon." 

"  Can  the  leopard  change  his  spots,  or  the  camel 
his  skin?"  muttered  the  attentive  listener.  "  But 
pray  go  on,  Bertha !" 

Bertha  did  not  go  on,  at  least  immediately;  she 
sat  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  vacancy,  and  a  strangely 
mournful  smile  parting  her  delicate  lips.    Her  moiher 
re<jjarded  her  with  melancholv  interest  and  waited 
patiently  for  her  thoughts  to  find  vent  in  words. 

"  It  was  a  lovely  night,"  said  Bertha  at  length  very 
softly  and  half-abstractedly,  "  the  yellow  harvest 
moon  was  above  us  broad  and  bright,  looking  dov/n 
placidly  on  u.'^  mummers,  as  she  had  two  thousand 
years  before  on  the  real  Druids.  The  scene  was  in 
the  highest  degree  picturesque,  when  our  party, 
some  twelve  in  number,  assembled  on  the  green 
slope,  each  mulHed  in  a  large  cloak,  the  hood  of 
which  was  thrown  over  the  head,  so  as  partially  to 
conceal  the  features,  I  forgot  to  mention  that  Cap- 
tain, then  Mr.  Belle w,  was  of  the  party,  and  he  ap- 
peared as  a  Druid  priest,  robed  in  white,  and 
crowned  with  mistletoe,  with  a  silver  crescent  glit- 
tering amongst  the  dark  leaves  over  his  brow.  He 
looked  well,  it  is  true,  though  wanting  the  stern 
dignity  appropriate  to  the  character.  Lady  Susan 
would  fain  have  had  Mr.  Montague  figure  in  the  sacer- 
dotal costume,  but  he  laughingly  declined  the  honor 
in  favor  of  his  friend  Gerald,  who  seemed  rather 
to  desire  »t.     At  another  time  I  might  dwell  more 


TASTE    VER8U3    FASHION. 


355 


on  the  dramatic  features  of  the  scene  and  the  solemn 
beauty  of  the  hour  and  the  place,  the  stillness  un- 
broken by  any  sound — I  might  tell  you  of  the  some- 
what ludicrous  figure  dear  Uncle  Gerald  cut  as  he 
stumped  heavily  along,  with  his  stout  form  enveloped 
in  the  Druid's  cloak,  and  he  trying  hard  to  drill  his 
rebellious  feet  to  the  slow,  gliding  step  which  be- 
came his  assumed  character.  But  I  cannot  now 
pause  for  description — I  must  on  to  the  part  which 
concerns  myself,  und  which  you,  I  know,  most  de- 
sire to  hear."  She  stopped  a  moment — pressed  her 
hand  on  her  eyes,  and  then  went  (m  in  a  hurried 
tone  as  though  anxious  to  get  through  with  a  pain- 
ful task : 

"  Her  ladyship  was  installed  in  her  seat  of  offic  , 
the  Druid's  chair,  namely, — and  oh  !  how  bewitch, 
ingly  beautiful  she  was,  when  throwing  back  the 
deep  hood  from  her  face,  the  moonbeams  fell  full 
on  her  garland-crowned  head,  and  her  arch,  spiritual 
features,  lit  up  with  some  inward  emotion  or  idea, 
that  was  altogether  undefinable.  Part  of  her  office 
was,  ^'^  previously  agreed  upon,  to  tell  each  one's 
fortune,  (i  la  clairvoyante^  and  it  was  amusing  to  see 
ihe  different  effect  of  her  pretended  vaticinations  on 
each,  as  we  all  advanced  in  turn  from  the  circle  in 
which  we  stood,  some  yards  distant,  and  bowing 
low,  knelt  before  the  inspired  Druidess  to  hear  our 
doom  pronounced.  The  elders  were  all  laughing  as 
they  resumed  their  places  m  the  semicircle,  except 
the  Earl,  who  looked  slightly  annoyed,  Bellew  and 


■'■* 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    0?,, 


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Eveleen  were  a  little  grave,  and  the  three  fair  sisters 
of  the  clairvoyante  pouting,  and  muttering  some 
eaiicy  retort  between  their  teeth.  When  Montague 
advanced  with  stately  step,  and  bowing  with  lofty 
grace,  knelt  before  the  chair,  I  could  see,  or  at  least 
thought  I  could,  a  change  passing  over  the  lovely 
face  of  the  priestess,  though  her  eyes  were  closed, 
or  seemed  to  be.  Bending  slowly  forward,  she  pro- 
nounced a  few  words  in  a  very  low  voice,  her  lips 
scarcely  moving,  and  her  eyes  still  closed.  I  saw 
Montague  start,  and  when  he  arose  to  return  to  his 
place,  though  the  hood  was  drawn  farther  yet  over 
his  face,  I  saw  he  was  ghastly  pale.  It  was  my  turn 
to  advance,  for  I  chanced  to  be  the  last,  and,  whe- 
ther it  was  that  strange  presentiment  ot  evil  that 
sometimes  chills  the  heart  with  a  sudden  fear,  or  the 
consciousness  that  Lady  Susan  was  in  some  mys- 
terious way  connected  with  my  fate,  I  felt  my  heart 
sink,  and  my  strength  fail,  as  I  knelt  in  the  place 
of  doom. 

"  '  What  wouldst  thou  of  me  ?'  said  the  priestess 
in  a  deep  voice,  This  startled  me  still  more,  fo**  she 
had  questioned  none  of  the  others. 

"  *  Knowledge,*  I  faintly  answered,  willing  to  play 
my  part. 

"'Thou  shalt  have  it!'  said  the  deep  low  voicfl 
again,  and  bending  her  head  close  to  mine,  the 
priestess  spoke  in  a  hissing  whisper : 

"  *  Think  not  of  Montague — he  is  pledged  to  an- 
other!   Thatr  lovely  child  whose  image  you  admirod 


m 

^ 

u.- 

i'    , 

7ASTK   VERSUS   FASHION. 


351 


Ihe  other  day  is  Edith  Montague — his  child,  by  one 
whom  I  care  not  to  name.  Go,  now,  but  breathe 
not  a  word  of  that  to  mortal,  for  I  would  not  have 
his  anger,  now,  that  I  am  so  soon  to  become  a  mem- 
ber of  his  family  !' 

"  *  Is  he  then,  married  V  I  asked  with  a  sort  of 
spasmodic  effort. 

" '  Married  ! — no !'  And  a  low  scoffing  laugh  es- 
caped her  parted  lips. 

"  *  My  God !'  murmured  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  "  it 
was  for  just  such  a  cause  I  broke  off  my  engage- 
ment with  his  father !' 

"  The  words  and  the  laugh  rang  in  my  ears,"  went 
on  Bertha  as  if  scarcely  noticing  the  interruption, 
"  and  smote  my  heart  like  a  knoll ;  how  I  got  back 
to  my  place  I  know  not,  but  I  have  a  faint  recollec- 
tion of  Montague  advancing  to  meet  me — probably 
seeing  the  faiutness  that  was  on  me — I  believe  I 
motioned  him  away  with  my  hand,  and  walked,  as 
best  I  could,  to  the  place  I  had  left.  Fortunately 
none  of  the  others  had  noticed  my  agitation,  and  I 
know  not,  indeed,  whether  Montague  did,  or  whether 
he  attributed  my  toUering  steps  to  a  sudden  faiut- 
ness— in  either  case  he  made  no  subsequent  allusion 
to  it.  Indeed,  from  that  hour  forward,  we  were 
strangers  to  each  other, — the  friendly  inter-com- 
mnnion  of  thought  that  had  existed  between  us,  ex- 
i.*ted  no  longer.  I  know  not  if  he  suspected  what 
Lady  Susan  had  told  me,  but  there  was  a  conscious- 
ness in  his  manner  evet  after  that  convinced  me  of 


■■"  / 


^^^.^^ 


■M-  -  I 


868 


OLD    AND    NEW  j    OR, 


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■'•«■•« 


the  truth  of  what  I  had  heard,  and  steeled  my  heart 
against  him.  Oh  mother !  the  misery  of  tliat  hour 
when  I  first  learned  to  think  of  him — of  Edgar  Mon- 
tague— as  a  libertine — he  whom  1  had  thought  so 
pure  in  heart,  so  noble  in  mind,  so  far  removed  from 
any  of  the  degrading  vices  of  sensuality  !" 

"  But,  my  dearest  child  !"  said  Ijer  mother,  "  did 
he  never  make  any  attempt  to  exculpate  himself — I 
know,  of  course,  that  you  could  not  allude  to  the 
subject  in  any  way,  seeing  that  he  had  never " 

"  *  Never  talked  of  love  !'  said  Bertha,  quoting 
Goldsmith,  "  why,  my  dear  mother,  not  only  did  he 
never  talk  of  it,  but  I  had  no  tangible  reason  for  sup- 
posing that  he  ever  felt  it — for  me,  at  least.  But 
you  ask  me  if  he  never  made  any  attempt  at  ex- 
planation— no,  not  even  a  hint  in  that  direction 
crossed  his  lips.  I  noticed,  indeed,  that  he  was 
more  reserved  with  Lady  Susan  after  that  night,  but 
his  high-bred  courtesy  was  still  the  same  to  her — to 
me — to  all.  Gradually — very  gradually — he  with- 
drew himself  from  our  circle,  and  at  last  it  came 
that  we  rarely  saw  him  at  all.     He  went  to  Madrid, 

thence  to  Malta,  where  his  uncle  Sir was 

Governor  at  the  time;  between  the  two  places  he 
epent  a  whole  summer,  and  when  he  returned  to 
Dunmore,  we — that  is  Aunt  Helen,  Uncle  Walter, 
Eveleen  and  I — were  in  Paris,  I  believe,  on  our  way 
to  Rome,  Uncle  Gerald  having  insisted  on  our  going 
abroad  before  the  season  was  further  advanced. 
The  next  thing  I  heard  of  Montague  was  that  he  had 


?^..- 


■  v,v, 


TASTE    VERjJUd    FASHIOX. 


85% 


purchased  a  commission  in  the  army — and  Gerald 
Bellew  soon  after  followed  his  example." 

"  And  Lady  Susan  ?" 

"  Oh  !  as  for  her,"  said  Bertha  with  bitter  empha* 
sis,  "  I  have  little  doubt  but  she  quietly  laughed  in 
her  sleeve  at  us  all.  Whatever  passed  between  her- 
self and  Montague  in  private  I  cannot,  of  course, 
say,  but  to  all  outward  appearance  her  manner 
towards  him  was  just  the  same  as  ever,  notwith- 
standing his  apparent  coldness  which  was,  I  sup- 
pose, but  temporary,  and,  perhaps,  only  assumed. 
At  times  I  could  detect  a  deeper  shade  of  feeling 
lurking  under  the  graceful  levity  with  which  she  ad- 
dressed him,  but  I  know  not  if  others  noticed  it  as 
I  did — I  rather  think  they  did  not." 

"  But  did  you  never  question  her  as  to  the  parti- 
culars of  her  charge  against  Mr.  Montague  ?" 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  mother !  I  did  not.  1 
often,  very  often  wished  to  do  so,  but  when  it  came 
to  the  point,  the  words  seemed  to  die  away  on  my 
lips,  and  I  shrank  from  making  any  inquiry  of  her 
with  regard  to  Montague.  Oh  !  no  !  no  !  any  one  on 
earth  but  Lady  Susan'  Blackwood.  Nor  did  she 
ever  again  refer  to  the  subject.  Once,  indeed,  she 
mentioned,  as  if  quite  casually,  that  little  Edith 
Montag  10  was  eight  years  old,  and  was  then  at  school 
in  Madrid.  We  were  not  alone  at  the  time,  or  1 
might  possibly  have  been  tempted  to  ask  a  question 
or  two  in  relation  to  this  Edith  ;  as  it  was,  I  aflected 
to  take  no  notice,  as  Lady  Susan  had  not  addressed 


:.-.-.f 


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■  '•'■  *■  'i[^^'-'  :  ■*■•■. 
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herself  specially  to  me.  It  struck  me  as  rather  a 
eiugular  thing  to  send  the  child  to  school  all  tho 
way  to  Madrid,  but  the  unhappy  circumstances  of 
her  birth  in  part  accounted  for  the  oddness  of  the 
choice,  as  Montague  would,  of  course,  be  anxious 
to  have  her  as  far  as  possible  out  of  the  way.  But 
oh!  mother,  how  can  I  tell  you  the  anguish,  the 
ahame,  the  mortification  which  I  endured  for  months 
after  I  had  heard  the  dreary  news.  It  was  hard  to 
think  of  htm — him  so  high-souled,  so  noble,  so  gene- 
rous— in  such  a  connection  as  that,  and,  of  course, 
as  a  Christian,  I  could  nowise  justify,  or  even  extenu- 
ate such  flagrant  immorality.  Even  as  the  friend 
he  had  been,  the  agreeable  companion,  Edgar  Mon- 
tague was  no  longer  a  fit  associate  for  our  circle, 
and  yet  how  could  I  have  hinted  such  a  thing  to  the 
others  who  still  believed  him  what  his  fair  seemini; 
indicated.  How  happy  I  was,  then,  and  what  a 
weight  was  lifted  from,  my  secret  heart  when  he 
witl»drew  himself,  as  I  told  you  he  did,  from  our 
circle,  and  finally  left  Ireland  for  Spain." 

"  But  Lady  Susan — were  she  and  Lord  Dunmore 
married  ?" 

"  Married  !"  said  Bertha,  with  keen  irony ;  "  no, 
indeed,  mother !  they  were  not.  I  believe  the  Vis- 
count found  out  by  some  means  that  Lady  Susan 
was  in  the  habit  of  ridiculing  his  disfigured  coun- 
tenance to  her  confidential  friends,  and,  of  course, 
the  Montague  blood  took  fire,  and  he  informed  her 
jidyship  by  letter  that  having  reason  to  suppose 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


3G1 


fliat  she  repented  of  their  engagement,  self-respect 
H'ould  not  permit  him  to  enforce  his  claim  to  her 
fair  hand,  which  he,  therefore,  begged  respectfully 
to  resign  in  favor  of  some  worthier  and  more  at- 
tractive aspirant.  Whatever  Lady  Susan's  family 
might  have  thought  of  this  apparently  cavalier 
treatment,  there  were  no  public  steps  taken  to 
show  their  displeasure,  possibly  because  the  politio 
earl  deemed  it  the  wiser  course  to  submit  in  silence, 
rather  than  furnish  a  nine  days'  wonder  for  the  fash- 
ionable world  by  sueing  Lord  Dunmore  for  breach 
of  promise.  Indeed,  Lady  Susan  and  the  whole 
family  contrived  to  impress  the  public  mind  with 
the  idea  that  it  was  she,  not  Lord  Dunmore,  who 
had  seceded  from  the  contract,  and  to  show  how 
well  pleased  she  was  at  its  dissolution,  she  got  up  a 
very  marked  flirtation  with  a  certain  Scotch  baro- 
net, widower  of  middle  age,  who  liad  lately  pur- 
chased an  estate  in  the  neighborhood.  Finding,  I 
suppose,  that  he  was  somewhat  dilatory  in  declaring 
his  intentions,  she  accepted,  probably,  in  despera- 
tion, the  hand  and  fortune  of  Sir  Henry  Burke." 

"  Sir  Henry  Burke  !"  exclaimed  Madam  Von  Wie- 
gel,  "  why,  he  is  as  old  as  I  am,  if  not  older.  It 
must  be  the  same  person,  for  I  never  heard  of  my 
old  acquaintance  being  married — nor  yet  dying." 

"  It  is  the  same  Sir  Henry,  mother !  I  have  heard 
Aunt  Helen  and  my  uncles  speak  many  a  time  of  his 
odd  ways  and  his  inextinguishable  foppery." 

"  Why,  what  a  match  for  the  young  and  beautiful 


1 


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OLD    AND    NEW 


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daughter  of  an  earl !"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel  in 
surprise.  "  What  could  have  induced  her  to  marry 
/tewj— she,  of  all  people, — so  brilliant  and  so  ad- 
mired ?" 

"As  I  have  already  intimated,  my  dear  mother, 
he  must  have  married  him  in  a  tit  of  spleen,  and  be- 
cause he  wa-3  the  first  that  asked  her  after  her  disap 
pointment." 

"  Well !  and  what  has  become  of  her  since  ? — how 
have  she  and  Sir  Henry  agreed?" 

"  Tolerably  well,  I  believe ;  indeed  there  is  but 
one  will  between  them,  for  Sir  Henry  would  as  soon 
think  of  taking  Nelson's  Pillar  or  the  London  Monu- 
ment on  his  back  as  opposing  any  wish  or  disputing 
any  command  of  my  Lady  Paramount.  They  have 
been  travelling  most  of  the  time  since  their  mar- 
riage, now  some  four  or  five  years  ago,  but  what  will 
you  say  when  I  tell  you  that  they  are  now  in  this 
city  ?" 

"In  this  city!  is  it  possible?"  and  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  looked  musingly  down  at  the  carpet. 

"  It  is  not  only  possible  but  true ! — I  saw  their 
names  on  the  list  of  arrivals  by  the  Havre  packet 
the  day  before  yesterday.  Now  is  it  net  a  remarka- 
ble coincidence,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  that  Lady 
Susan  should  arrive  in  New  York  at  this  particular 
time — New  York,  of  all  places?" 

"  I  know  not,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother  still  in 
the  same  thoughtful  tone;  "it  certainly  does  look 
somewhat  strange — but  still  it  may  be  pure  acci* 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


3r,3 


dent — stranger  things  than  that  you  kno^.v,  do 
lia{)pen  by  chance." 

Bertha  shook  her  head.  "  You  see  neither  of  the 
gentlemen  came  this  evening,  as  they  had  promised." 

"  The  promise  was  only  conditional,  Bertha. 
Still  I  must  own  the  whole  aifair  is  rather  suspicious. 
But,  then,  suppose,  Major  Montague  and  Captain 
Belle w  did  call  on  Ladv  Susan — when  they  found 
she  had  arrived — it  was  nothing  more  than  common 
courtesy  and  good  feeling  required,  seeing  that  she 
is,  after  all,  a  very  old  acquaintance  !"  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  spoke  in  rather  a  hesitating  tone,  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  combat  even  her  own  conviction. 

"  Nothing  in  the  world  would  be  more  natural  oi 
more  decorous,"  rejoined  Bertha,  "  in  an  ordinary 
case — but  this  is  not  an  ordinary  case,  my  dear 
mother,  but  altogether  eaj^ra-ordinary.  Now  I  know 
not  whether  Major  Montague  may  call  on  us  again 
previous  to  his  departure — although  his  high-bred 
courtesy  would  scarcely  permit  him  to  dispense  with 
tliat  act  of  common  politeness — and  if  he  should 
call,  it  is  not  very  probable  that  he  will  give  me  an 
opportunity  of  alluding  to  this  painful  subject — and 
hence  I  shall  have  no  alternative  but  believe  him 
guilty — very,  very  guilty  ! — and  that,  too,  when 
I  was  almost  daring  to  hope  that  he  might  not 
be  so  black  as  Lady  Susan  would  have  had  me  be- 
lieve. Now  there  is  no  hope — and  1  feel,  7ny  dear- 
est  mother,  with  that  crushing  conviction  on  my 


it- '  f  I 


■f;*>  T-'-    *■ 


1  ■  ♦ 


H64 


OT.n    AND    KEW  ;    OR, 


^V' 


?i^ 


aIw 


*/l'  .. 

^y-*.',   ',, 

,-'''. 

-■■    ,-:.•           ■■     V-   . 

mind,  as  if  I  had  seen  with  my  own  eyes  another 
bright  intelligence  fall  from  the  spheres  above." 

"But,  my  dear  Bertha!"  said  her  mother  tenderly 
smoothing  back  with  her  hand  the  rich  mass  of  dark 
hair  that  shaded  her  daughter's  queenly  brow,  "  my 
dear  Bertha !  you  surely  could  not  think  of  squan- 
dering your  heart's  affection  on  one  whose  moral 
character  you  have  strong  reason  to  doubt — one 
who,  moreover" — she  paused,  and  seemed  at  a  loss 
how  to  continue. 

"  I  know  what  you  would  say,  mother !"  said 
Bertha  with  a  mournful  smile,  "  one  who  never  said 
he  loved.  Well !  my  dearest  mother,"  and  she  rose 
as  she  spoke,  "  /  do  not  say  I  love  him — and  be  as- 
sured that  even  if  I  had  loved  him  as  never  wo  lau 
loved  man,  let  me  once  be  convinced  of  his  depravity, 
and  I  would  tear  his  image  from  my  heart,  though 
the  heart  should  break  in  the  effort." 

There  was  a  dazzling  light  in  Bertha's  eyes,  and  a 
burning  glow  on  her  cheek  as  she  spoke  these  em- 
phatic words,  and  the  fond  mother  murmured  to 
herself  as  she  gazed  through  blinding  tears  at  her 
daughter,  "  Were  virtue  incarnate  in  mortal  form, 
the  embodied  spirit  might  bear  such  a  semblance! 
God  bless  you,  my  sweet  daughter!"  she  said  aloud, 
"  I  have  no  fear  but  He  will,  and  bring  you  unscathed 
through  the  trials  and  vicissitudes  and  temptations 
of  this  weary  life!  I  think  I  may  now  prepare  for 
bed." 


'''•*>ii 


TAST£    VERSUS    FASHION. 


8«5 


**Do  you  feel  better  or  worse,  mother,  now  that 
you  have  heard  all  ?"  inquired  Bertha  earnestly. 

"  Neither  better  nor  worse.  Bertha !"  was  the 
reply,  "  but  much  surprised,  and  sorely  puzzled.  It 
is  so  strange  that  his  father  and  1  should  have 
parted  on  the  same  grounds  that— that  induced  you 
to — to  shrink  from  further  intercourse  with  him." 

Anotiier  half,  hour  and  the  inmates  of  liheinfeldt 
House  were,  or,  at  least,  seemed  to  be,  sunk  in  calm 
repose. 

But  there  were  two  hearts  there  wakeful  and  un- 
quiet. Bertha  was  thinking  of  the  little  probability 
there  was  that  the  hopes  nhe  had  once  cherished 
wei«  ever  now  to  be  realized ;  dim  and  faint,  as  in  a 
far  off  vision  they  appeared  "to  her  mind,  rather  as 
belonging  to  the  past  than  the  present.  She  was 
echooling  her  mind  into  submission,  and  sought,  but 
vainly,  to  realize  what  her  feelings  would  be  when 
even  the  last  faint  ray  of  hope  had  faded,  and  the 
brightest  charm  of  life  was  gone.  "  Now  that  I 
have  seen  him,"  she  said,  communing  with  her  own 
sad  thoughts,  "  now  that  I  have  seen  him  again  and 
again,  moving  amongst  us  like  a  being  from  some 
higher  sphere,  as  far  beyond  ordinary  mortals,  in  the 
endowments  of  mind  as  in  the  graces  of  person  and 
manner — the  possibility  of  his  being  what  I  had  once 
been  led  to  believe  seemed  to  have  diminished  very 
Beuoibly — and  then — there  were  moments  when  I 
almost  thought  ids  feelings  towards  me  were  such 
as  I  had  long  ago  wnlured  to  imagine, — but  now  thf 


366 


OLD    AND    NEW 


OK, 


>*  -yvitv 


9 


.».':  \*\1 


^ 


ligh<-  of  hope  is  well  nigh  gone,  and  scarcely  the  flxr 
ofl'  speck  remains  for  me  that  guided  Sinbad  through 
his  dreary  prison-cave.  Perhaps  I  may  see  him  no 
more — but  if  I  do,  it  must  be  to-morrow  or  next  day 
and  then  the  die  will  be  cast  one  way  or  the  other. 

Her  mother's  thoughts  were  not  much  more  sooth- 
ing. She  had  had  her  experience  of  the  Mou 
tagues,  and  could  not  help  fearing  that  Edgar  had  in- 
herited those  dangerous  propensities  and  that  laxity 
of  morals,  the  discovery  of  which  in  his  father  had 
turned  her  heart  away  from  him,  and  changed  the 
love  of  years  into  coldness  and  contempt.  "  How 
unfortunate,  how  very  unfortunate  it  is  !"  was  her 
mental  soliloquy,  "how  very  unfortunate  it  is  that 
Bertha  should  have  met  him  in  her  girlish  years' 
under  circumstances  so  favorable  to  the  display  of 
his  uncommon  attractions — and  how  still  more  un- 
fortunate that  the  acquaintance  so  abruptly  broken 
off  in  Ireland  was  renewed  here — here  under 
my  very  eyes ! — God  protect  my  child  from 
evil !  God  direct  her  for  the  best !"  This 
was  her  last  thought — her  last  prayer  as  her  eyes 
closed  in  a  troubled  slumber,  and  then  her  sleep- 
ing fancy  wandered  away  through  the  hazy  scenes 
of  dreamland,  and  forms  from  the  past  flitted  befoie 
her ;  the  Ritter  Von  Wiegel  was  there  regarding  her 
with  a  look  of  anxious  solicitude,  and  Henry  Monta- 
gue was  there,  not  the  dignified  peer  of  later  years — • 
tis  such  she  had  hardly  seen  him  in  life — but  the  boy- 
ish companion  of  her  earlier  years,  the  first  l<5vo  of 


P 


TASTE    VERSUS    EASHIOV. 


361 


her  young  heart.  Yes  !  he  was  there  in  the  bright- 
ness of  "  youth's  early  promise"  as  she  had  first  seon 
and  loved  him  when  "the  spririg-time  of  joy"  was 
speed  ng  on,  and 

"  Hearts  were  light, 
And  eyes  were  bright, 
Iq  tde  summer  days  v/hen  they  were  voung." 

All  at  once,  however,  a  dark  shade  flitfad  over  the 
fair  scene — a  change  came  over  Montague's  face  and 
form — the  thunder  was  heard  growling  in  the  dis- 
tance, the  lightning  flashed,  and  the  dreamer  felt  a 
cold  hand  laid  on  her  arm — she  knew  it  was  her 
husband's,  though  his  features  were  but  dimly  seen 
as  he  drew  her  away,  and  other  scenes  opened  be« 
fore  her. 


.  i 


i9|E   ^^A,' 


3^! 


868 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    Ol^ 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


DECIDEDLY     HYMENEAL. 

The  Gallaghers  are  still  at  Saratoga,  but  as  w« 
have  neither  time  nor  inclination  to  follow  them 
thither,  we  shall  take  the  orportunity  of  paying  a 
visit  to  the  Fogarty  mansion — indeed,  we  have 
neglected  the  fj^mily  too  long,  and  are  only  sorry 
we  have  not  much  time  to  devote  to  them  now. 

Contrary  to  general  expectation — for  general  ex- 
pectation is  generally  prone  to  rash  judgment — tho 
advent  of  Mrs.  Edward  Fogarty  had  been  produc- 
tive of  no  bad  eifects  in  the  way  of  disturbing  the 
family  peace.  Indeed,  things  appeared  to  have  gone 
on  rather  better  than  worse  since  Sarah  Hackett 
'*  went  home"  as  Edward's  wife.  Mrs.  Fogarly, 
senior,  though  a  little  rough  or  so,  as  our  readers 
may  remember,  was  really  a  good,  kind-hearted 
woman,  without  any  whims  or  vagaries  to  anr<oy 
others  round  her,  a'id  quite  willing  to  live  on  the 
best  of  terras  with  all  the  world,  if  it  wasn't  tho 
world's  own  fault.  It  was  her  habit  to  boast,  and 
we  believe  with  truth,  that  she  never  had  an  enemy 
in  all  her  life — to  which  William  H.  was  also  accus 
tomed  to  respond  when  ho  chanced  to  be  present . 
*'  Well  I  I  believe  you  never  had,  Ellen,  to  tell  tho 


TASTK    VERSUS   yxSHION. 


3G'J 


trniii — and  I  hope  you'll  die  with  the  same  story  to 
tell." 

It  was  not  very  likely  that  such  a  mother-in  law 
would  have  any  difficulty  with  her  son'^-  young  vvii'c 
whose  amiable  qualities  were  too  genuine  to  tail  iri 
the  trying  ordeal  of  every-day  lite.  Sarah  and  her 
mother-in-law  were  invariably  the  best  of  friends, 
but  Juira  was  a  little  more  difficult  to  "  get  along 
with,"  as  Sarah  sometimes  added  to  Ednard.  Julia 
was  older  than  Edward — the  oldest  of  the  family 
she  was  except  Samuel,  and  having  now  reached 
the  sober  age  of  seven  or  eight-and-twenty  she  was 
beginning — there  is  no  denying  it — to /ee/ that  she 
■was  verging  on  the  dreaded  time  of  old-maiden- 
hood, and  what  was  worse,  to  make  others  round 
her  feel  it,  too — not  that  Julia  was  unaraiable,  or  by 
nature  peevish  or  irritable — no  such  thing — as  a 
general  thing  she  was  good-tempered  and  agreeable, 
and  possessed  a  remarkable  share  of  that  valuable 
quality,  commonly  called  common  sense;  but  then 
there  was,  certainly,  and  for  the  reason  above 
assigned,  an  occasional  fir  of  discontent  visible  in 
Julia's  manner  and  a  shade  of  it  on  her  clear  brown 
face  that  was  not  satisfactory  to  those  with  whom 
she  lived. 

In  general  things  went  on  smoothly  enough  be- 
tween the  sisters-in-law,  notwithstanding  that  Julia 
was  like  her  namesake  in  the  song  "a  little  pekoo* 
liar,"  for  Sarah  knew  how  to  humor  her  when  the 


v-^ 


870 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    0?,, 


fit  was  on  her,  and  that  was  never  long,  for  Julia 
was  never  dark  or  sullen. 

It'  there  was  any  one  thing  that  annoyed  Julin 
Fogarty  more  ihtm  another  it  wag  the  airs  of  supe- 
riority and  condescension  assumed  by  the  Gaihighcr 
girls  towards  herself  personally.  Some  of  them, 
moreover,  were  in  the  habit  of  twitting  her  oii  the 
increasing  possibility  of  her  being  consigned  forever 
and  a  day  to  the  state  commonly  called  of  single 
blessedness,  and  even  Fanny,  although  her  senior 
by  a  couple  of  years,  was  not  behind  the  others 
in  dealing  out  such  hints  and  inuendos  for  Julia's 
benefit. 

"Just  to  think  of  Fanny's  talking  sol"  said  Julia 
to  her  sister-in-lavv  who  was  her  only  confidant  in 
such  matters,  "  I'm  sure  she  hasn't  so  many  chances 
herself  in  her  favor,  or  many  more  strings  to  her 
bow  than  I  have  myself  Do  you  think  she  has  e'er 
a  one  at  all,  Sarah?" 

"Well,  of  course,  /  can't  say  how  many  or  how 
few  she  has,"  laughed  Mrs.  Edward,  "  but,  for  one,  I 
rather  think,  she  counts  on  McConoghy." 

"  And  do  you  think  she  has  any  chance  of  him  7''^ 

Sarah  shook  her  head  as  if  she  didn't  know,  be- 
cause she  didn't  choose  to  sav  what  slie  did  know. 

"  Well !  I  declare,  I'd  give  five  dollars  to  know," 
went  on  Julia,  "  for  if  Fanny  hasn't  McConoghy  in 
her  eye  she  can't  have  anybody  else,  and  if  I  wa*i 
only  sure  about  that  I  could  pay  her  back  when  she 
talks  to  we." 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


871 


"  Wliat  are  you  about,  girls,  what  are  you  about?' 

taitl  Mrs.  Fogarty  sudilenly  throwing  open  the  door, 

'I  wish  you'd  come  and  give  a  hand  down  stairs  till 

we  get  something  made  for  tea — here  it's  five  o'clock 

and  there  isn't  a  thing  done,  and  what  do  you  think 

ut  Mr.  McConoghy  is  coming  for  tea " 

•'Who  says  so,  ma?"  inquired  Julia. 

"  Why,  your  father  says  so — come,  come,  don't 
wait  to  ask  any  more  questions — you  see  Sarah  is 
oir  already." 

Many  hands,  they  say,  make  light  work,  and  so 
the  tea  was  ready  in  good  lime,  and  a  well-spread 
table  awaited  the  coming  of  six  o'clock  and  Mr. 
McConogliy.  The  hour  came  and  the  man,  and  so, 
of  course,  did  William  H.  and  his  sons  Edward  and 
Willy  ;  the  meal  was  in  all  respects  a  pleasant  one, 
and  Mr.  McConoghy  was  remarkably  blithe  and 
cheerful,  and  cracked  jokes  apropos  to  everything, 
and  flung  them  around  in  all  directions.  Amongst 
other  items  of  news  he  informed  the  company  that 
he  had  serious  thoughts  of  changing  his  way  of  life. 

'•As  how  ?"  quest'oned  the  host ;  "  do  you  mean  to 
go  housekeeping?" 

"That's  just  what  I  mean,  if  I  can  only  get  the 
housekeeper." 

"Hear  him  now  !"  said  Edward  laughingly,  "as 
if  he  hadn't  one  ready  to  his  hand.  And  a  good 
hou8ekeei)er  she  is,  too,  John  !  for  her  mother  is  the 
very  woman  to  make  sure  of  that.     Our  bam  thinks 


372 


OLD    AND    NEW  ; 


OR, 


^mi 


there  a'nt  a  better  manager  in  New  York  than  hia 
wife." 

**  Manager  be  shot !"  politely  ejaculated  McCo- 
noghy ;  "it's  little  their  management  will  put  to  the 
fore  for  a  man,  so  long  as  they  spend  on  dress  Hity 
times  more  than  they  save !  Tliat's  what  /  call  left- 
handed  management !" 

"Fie,  fie,  Mr.  McConoghy  !"  said  Mrs.  Edward 
with  a  smile  and  a  reproving  gesture;  "it's  well 
somebody  we  know  is  not  within  hearing — if  she 
were,  you'd  have  a  different  story  to  tell." 

"  Fie,  fie,  yourself,  Mrs.  Edward !"  rejoined  McCo- 
noghy in  a  half  serious  tone,  "  you  know  well 
enough  how  that  matter  stands — there's  another  not 
far  off  now,  that  I'd  rather  have  had  than  e'er  a  one 
of  them,  but — ahem!  it's  a  folly  to  talk,  Edward 
Fogarty,  you  have  a  great  deal  to  answer  for !" 
And  he  heaved  an  extra-heavy  sigh,  and  turned  up 
the  whites  of  his  eyes  most  dolorously. 

"  Why,  dear  me,  Mr.  McConoghy,"  said  matter- 
of-fact  Mrs.  Fogarty,  "  what's  your  trouble  now  ?— • 
isn*t  Fanny  to  the  good  yet  ?" 

"She  is, — a}tdwill  be,  ma'am  !"  responded  John,  as 
soon  as  the  laugh  that  echoed  round  the  table  had 
somewhat  subsided.  "  Miss  Fanny  is  an  article 
that's  likely  to  keep,  Mi'S.  Fogarty  ! ' 

"  To  keep  Jiouse,  eh  V 

"  Ha  1  ha  !  Mr.  Fogarty  !  you  thought  you  had  nie 
there — but  you  took  me  up  before  I  fell.  Ladies  !" 
i^aid  John,  as  if  not  unwilling  to  change  the  conver- 


TASPE    VERstTS    FASHIOJT.  „.- 

Jones' Woor;fl!!l*-«f^'»/-  ''"'  Excursion  to 
if  you'll  accept  them  n„  ,/""'"''-'""  ^  don't  know 
with  you."      ^         ■"  ""  ">«  «°»dition  of  me  going 

got  ticket,  already- w!n:r!^  "s.Johu;  but  we'. e 
of  the  Excursion  "and  r  ,  "  ""'  "f  the  managers 
the  tickets.  W^'ro  lb,:  'r''^ '"''''••' '•o^^-»  of 
though."  "   obhged.to  you  all   the  same, 

-l^^suS";'.::^;^.':";;;-■-^"  -'^  e^-^' 

poor  company  for  a  g'e^t  in  Sv'k'^r^''  is   but 

Deuce  take  Saratoga !»  cried  M  n 
real  vexation,  "I  ^^J  ,^  wit   T    "r^'^  "''"' 
ahem  !  the  Imly  witn  it  !'•  J"'cho,~and-. 

'Ho  was  .ooki„gi.;i::ri::  ,f':r^'  ^'  ^""- 
H'-";re„t;rtrCsn^'-^^---^^--^ 

amongst  otheragreeable  IhTnl  Sfh '"''  ''"J"''  ""''' 
fidential  tone,  that  he  hadn'/r  *■■  ""'"'t^aoofl- 

--t  young  woman  uiS  Fr'r"^"""-^''- 
credit  to  them  that  broulthe^,  ^'"''^'  ''''°  ^"^  « 
"-ards  added  that  Julia  I  a  W.'"  "'"'  '"^  ""- 
ocoount  of  his  mother,  God  restl  m™'  °- '"^'  ">•* 

was  Julia-Jnii,  McBdde     I/Tp'"- "'•'"'••"""<' 
course,  highly  pleased  with  th!  ^'  p    ^''"^  "'''''  of 


^i  '-u'X 


i 


M:       C 


314 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


ehowed  her  satisfaction  by  making  John  McConoghy 
acquainted  with  sundry  good  oflers  that  Julia  liad 
bad,  but  somehow  she  didn't  seem  to  care  for  ac- 
cepting any  of  them — she  (Mrs.  Fogarty)  couldn't 
tell  wliat  to  make  of  her  refusing  such  very  good 
otfers,  but  she  supposed  her  time  wasn't  come — or 
the  right  man  hadn't  made  his  appearance.  To  this 
latter  possibility  John  acceded  in  perfect  good  faith, 
perhaps  wondering  whether  he  might  have  a  chanco 
of  being  the  right  man,  in  case  ho  made  his  appear- 
ance. 

At  all  events,  appear  he  did  in  the  character  of 
Julia's  humble  servant,  dating  from  the  day  of  the 
Excursion,  on  which  occasion  he  had  the  honor  of 
making  one,  and  a  prominent  one,  too,  in  the  Fo- 
garty party — danced  two  sets  of  quadrilles  with 
Julia  "  under  the  greenwood  tree,"  and,  what  was 
still  more  desirable,  for  a  gentleman  wanting  a  house- 
keeper, had  the  honor  of  the  same  young  lady's  com- 
pany, and  her  arm  within  his,  for  a  promenade 
(through  the  crowd)  most  part  of  the  afternoon,  to 
the  agreeable  surprise  of  some,  the  disagreeable  sur- 
prise of  others,  and  the  setting  in  motion  of  a  score 
or  two  of  tongues. 

It  must  be  acknowledged  that  Julia  Fogarty,  over 
and  above  other  considerations  of  per^sonal  ad- 
vantage, did  estimate  Mr.  McConoghy's  attentions 
as  a  triumph  over  Fanny  Gallagher,  excusing  the 
uncharitable  feeling  to  herself  by  the  patent  fact  that 
said  Fanny  was  the  very  lady  that  triuraphe-d  ov«j 


tas-:e  versus  fashion. 


315 


every  one  else  on  the  slightest  possible  opportunity. 
So  Julia  thought,  and  peiiiaps  not  unjustly,  that  ib 
was  only  fair  to  give  her  back  tit  for  tat. 

The  upshot  of  all  this  may  be  inferred.  Justthre^ 
weeks  after  the  Excursion  to  Jones'  Wood,  Julia 
Fogarty  exchanged  vows  at  the  altar  with  John 
McC<jnoghy,  and  after  the  wedding  breakfast  the 
happy  couple  set  out  for  Philadelphia,  where  they 
purposed  spending  a  few  days  before  they  com- 
menced housekeeping,  which  John  declared  must  be 
very  soon,  as  he  had  set  his  heart  on  having  a  home 
and  a  fireside  before  he  was  many  v.eeks  older. 

Tom  Gallagher  went  to  Church  by  invitation  to 
see  his  friend  "  spliced,"  and  after  partaking  of  the 
wedding  breakfast,  and  contributing  largely  to  the 
general  hilarity  of  the  company,  went  across  with 
the  Fogartys,  father  and  sons,  to  the  Southern  rail- 
road depot  in  Jersey  City,  to  see  the  new-married 
pair  fairly  started.  Who  should  he  find  there  bub 
Atty  Garrell  waiting  to  shake  hands  with  Mr.  McCo- 
loghy,  and  wish  him  joy  of  his  morning's  work. 

All  V  ere  surprised  to  see  Atty,  and  when  McCo- 
noghy  did  shake  hands  with  him  at  parting,  he 
leaned  over  and  whispered  in  his  ear  : 

*'  Good-bye,  Atty  !  good-bye ! — you  see  I'm  good- 
natured  after  all.     Til  leave  Miss  Fanny  for  you  /" 

"  Goodness  gracious,  Mr.  McConoghy !  what  a 
thing  for  you  to  say  !"  ejaculated  Atty,  his  thin  face 
all  over  blushing  as  he  retreated  behind  the  portly 
figure  of  Tom  Gallagher. 


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OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OR, 


The  conductor's  whistle  gave  the  alarm — handa 
were  hurriedly  shaken  through  the  window  and 
"  good-byes"  exchanged, — the  great  iron-horse 
«norted  fiercely,  then  started  away  on  his  lightiiini» 
journey — the  cars  started  after  him,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  John  McConoghy  were 

"Off,  off  and  away," 

on  the  hymeneal  road,  and  let  us  hope  that — 

" their  guiding  star  was  the  bright  star  of  love." 

But  the  marriage,  though  bright  enough  for  them, 
was  anything  but  bright  for  Fanny  Gallagher  when 
the  news  reached  her  at  Saratoga.  In  fact  it  was  so 
wholly  unexpected,  so  far  beyond  the  range  of  her 
calculation,  that  it  came  on  poor  Miss  Funny  with 
the  force  of  a  shower-bath  at  a  temperature  many 
degrees  below  zero,  and  she  literally  gasped  for 
breath,  whereupon  Miss  Mag,  ever  ready  on  sucli 
occasions,  seized  a  palm-leaf  fan  that  lay  on  the 
table  for  general  use,  and  commenced  fanning  her 
most  unmercifully,  whilst  Ellie,  equally  on  the  alert, 
came  at  a  wink  from  Mag,  and  held  a  smelling  bot- 
tle to  her  nose  with  great  appearance  of  anxiety 
touching  her  bodily  health.  These  sisterly  atten- 
tions, I  regret  to  say,  were  not  appreciated  by  tho 
senior  Miss  Gallagher,  who  dashed  down  the  fan 
with  one  hand  and  the  smelling-bottle  with  the 
Other,  and  opened  such  a  cannonade  on  the  juniors 
that  they  were  fain  to  run  away  laughing,  with  their 
hands  on  their  ears  to  shut  out  the  inharmonioui 


vi^' 


Taste  vRRsrs  fashiok. 


Bounds,  turning  back  at  the  door,  however,  to  offer 
their  respective  condolence  for  Fanny's  great  loss. 

The  disconsolate  Miss  Gallagher  was  exceeding 
wroth  at  this,  and  called  after  them,  "just  wait  now 
— just  wait  till  I  tell  raa ! — you'll  hear  what  she'll 
say  1"  But  the  incorrigible  pair  were  already  trip- 
ping along  tlie  passage  to  where  their  mother  was 
fitting  on  a  balcony  in  full  dress  with  some  other 
New  York  fashionables — the  news  burning  their 
tongues,  doubtless,  till  they  got  it  safely  delivered. 

"  Well !  but  in  earnest,  Mag,  what  do  you  think 
of  it?"  whispered  Ellie  by  the  way. 

"  Think  of  it !  why,  of  course,  I  don't  think  well  of 
it — the  idea  of  that  prim  old  thing,  Julia  Fogarty. 
getting  off  before  us,  and  Sarah  Ilackett,  too ! — I 
tell  you  I  don't  like  it  one  bit — that's  entre  }wus,  you 
know !" 

"  Well !  we  must  only  look  sharp,  said  Ellie  point- 
edly, lowering  her  voice  at  the  same  time;  "if  we 
miss  this  chance  we  may  hang  on  like  Fan — that's 
all !" 

What  the  chance  was,  Mag  and  Ellie  only  knew 
at  the  time,  but  Tom  Gallagher  knew  it  a  week  aftei 
in  his  lonely  mansion  in  New  York  when  he  received 
by  post  a  joint  letter  from  Mag  and  Eliie  apprising 
him  that  they  were  to  be  married  on  the  same  day— 
the  Tuesday  of  the  following  week — with  7na''s  fui\ 
conse?Ui  to  two  Southern  gentlemen  who  were  tha 
owners  of  ever  so  large  plantations,  and  scores  of 
niggers,  somewhere 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  'Way  down  in  the  Carolina  States." 
Tom  was  very,  very  angry — for  him — ou  readmg 
this  singular  announcement — had  he  listened  to  the 
promptings  of  his  vexed  spirit  he  would  have  gone 
"  right  off  to  Saratoga"  and  taken  the  "  womankind'' 
home  bag  and  baggage.  But,  of  course,  he  coul  i 
not  take  any  such  important  step  without  consulting 
his  right-hand  man,  or  rather  his  oracle,  Atty  Gar- 
rell,  and,  of  course,  Atty  was  not  in  such  a  passion 
as  he  was^  and  consequently  had  his  wits  about  him, 
so  he  reasoned  Tom  out  of  the  proposed  midnight 
excursion,  and  succeeded  in  proving  to  his  satisfac- 
tion that  a  letter  would  answer  the  same  purpose 
without  taking  him  away  from  his  business.  The 
letter  was  to  be  written  next  day  without  fail,  but 
when  next  day  came  it  proved  to  be  an  extra-busy 
day,  and  when  Tom  went  home  at  night  he  was  too 
tired  to  sit  down  to  the  onerous  task — always  te- 
dious to  him — of  inditing  a  letter,  so  he  put  it  off 
till  the  day  after,  and  although  it  was  written  the 
day  after,  it  was  posted  just  half  an  hour  too  late  to 
go  that  day,  though  Tom  didn't  know  that  it  wah 
late,  and  naturally  thought  all  was  right.  He  and 
Atty  smoked  their  cigara  togethei  that  night  witli 
great  comfort,  and,  on  the  part  of  Tom,  with  great 
complacency,  supposing,  of  course,  that  he  had  sent 
the  Southern  planters  to  the  right  about.  "Southern 
planters,  indeed  1"  quoth  he  to  Atty  as  he  \^  atclied 
*'  the  smoke  that  so  gracefully  curled"  from  his  fra- 
grant Havana,  "I'd  plant  them  if  they'd  go  on  with 


w 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


879 


any  such  nonsense ! — at  least  I'd  plant  ray  monej 
where  them  lads  wouldn't  get  their  hands  on  it  !— 
and  I  think  it's  that  they  want,  more  than  wives, 
the  schemers !  Well,  Atty,  it's  a  folly  to  talk !— • 
women  never  ought  to  have  their  own  way — now 
if  I  had  had  7711/  way,  they  wouldn't  have  been  a4 
Saratoga  at  all — for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  think 
it's  no  place  for  the  likes  of  them  I  Howsomever, 
Attyl  I  think  we've  forbid  the  bans  in  time,  and 
that's  the  main  point  now !" 

"  Of  course  it  is,"  said  Atty,  "  and  I  hope  we're 
all  right!" 

They  weren't  all  right,  however,  for  the  very  day 
the  ladies  were  expected  home  again,  instead  of 
themselves  came  to  Tom  Gallagher  tne  Saratoga 
paper  containing  amongst  ether  items  of  news  the 
following  • 

*'  Married,  in  the  Catholic  Church,  Saratoga,  on 
Tuesday  morning,  July  10th,  by  the  Rev.  Father 

,  Jerome  F.  Winter,  Esq.,  of  Cucamberville, 

S.  C,  to  Ellen  T.,  third  daughter,  and  on  the  same 
day,  by  the  same  Rev.  gentleman,  Ruben  R..  W 
Frost,  Esq.,  Lemonvale,  S.  C,  to  Margaret  Ann, 
fourth  daughter  of  Thomas  Gallagher,  Esq.,  of  New 
York  City.'* 

Now  placid  as  our  friend  Tom  was  on  ordinary 
occasions,  he  could  be  stirred  up  to  honest,  genuine 
anger,  and,  when  he  read  the  above  precious  "  item," 
I  tell  you  frankly  he  was  angry  and  very  angry. 
Too  angry  indeed  for  words,  for  his  heart  swelled 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


within  hirn  till  he  thought  it  would  burst,  and  he  felt 
a  choking  sensation  about  the  throat  that  stopped 
the  words  which  rose  to  his  lips.  But  it  was  not  all 
anger  tliat  shook  his  strong  frame  as  he  leaned  his 
elbows  on  the  table  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
hands.  Grief  was  heavy  at  his  heart,  and  Atty 
Garrell  knew  that  well,  and  applied  himself  to  offer 
consolation  in  the  best  way  he  could.  After  leaving 
his  patron  for  some  moments  to  the  indulgence  of 
the  several  emotions  that  swelled  within  him,  Atty 
approached  in  his  quiet  way  and  laid  his  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

*'  Mr.  Gallagher  !"  said  Atty,  "  I  wouldn't  take  on 
so  if  I  was  you.  I  would  not,  sir !  It  may  all  turn 
out  for  the  best,  and  sure,  at  any  rate,  it  isn't  so  bad 
but  what  it  might  be  worse." 

"  I  tell  you  it's  bad  enough,  Atty,"  was  the 
dogged  reply  of  Tom  without  raising  his  head.  "  I'd 
rather  see  them  in  their  graves,  the  ungrateful 
hussies!  for  then  I'd  be  done  with  the  trouble  of 
them,  and  besides  I  could  grieve  for  them  with  all 
the  love  of  a  father's  heart — but  now,  Atty! — oh 
God  help  me  1" 

"  Why,  my  goodness  !  matters  can't  be  so  bad  as 
you  think,"  said  Atty;  "sure  Mrs.  Gallagher  is  a 
sharp,  sensible  woman,  and  do  you  think  she'd  be 
the  fool  to  give  her  consent  to  the  two  matches  if 
she  wasn't  full  sure  of  them  being  good  ones  ?" 

Hearing  this,  Tom  raised  his  head  so  suddenly 
that  Atty  started  back.  "  Mrs.  Gallagher  be  hanged!** 


fV.1 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


381 


he  exclaimed  so  fiercely  that  Atty  drew  still  farther 
back,  whereat  Tom  laughed,  with  all  his  anger 
"  God  forgive  me  for  saying  such  a  word  1"  said  he, 
but  as  true  as  God's  in  heaven,  Atty  Garrell !  that 
woman  is  enough  to  ruin  any  family  of  children,  and 
she  makes  a  fool  of  herself  and  fools  of  them  girls  of 
hers  every  day  she  rises  out  of  her  bed.  It's  hei 
and  not  them  I  blame  for  this,  come  of  it  what  may." 

"  There  won*t  come  any  bad  of  it,"  put  in  Atty 
very  timidly,  "  you'll  see  there  won't,  Mr.  Gallagher." 

"  Don't  tell  me,  Atty  ! — I  know  there  will — it's  as 
plain  to  me  as  the  nose  on  your  face.  They're  a 
pair  of  sharpers — idle  loafers,  and  nothing  else. 
And  just  look  at  the  names  they've  got."  Referring 
again  to  the  paper,  he  read  aloud  "  Jerome  F.  Win- 
ter, of  Cucumberville,  no  less,  South  Carolina — 
(that's  what  S.  C.  stands  for,  you  know),  and  Ruben 
R.  W.  Frosty  of  Lemonvale,  S.  C.  There's  names 
for  you !  Winter  and  Frost !  why  Brown  and 
Green  wasn't  half  so  bad  as  that !  Now,  Atty  Gar- 
rell !  there's  two  things  to  be  said  about  that," 
pointing  with  his  finger  to  the  ominous  paragraph 
in  the  Saratoga  paper. 

"  Well,  sir  ?"  said  Atty,  seeing  that  his  patron 
paused. 

"  It's  my  opinion  that  them  aren't  the  fellows* 
nrmes  at  all — now  mark  that " 

"  I  will,  sir !" 

"  Nonsense,  man !  I  didn't  ask  you  whether  you 
would  or  not.     I  told  you  to  do  it — but  whether  oi 


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OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


not,  they'll  turn  out  Winter  and  Frost  for  tlie  fools 
they  have  got  their  grip  on.  They'll  freeze  theni^ 
I'll  go  bail  for  it — they  will,  and  only  it  would  be 
wrong  to  say  it,  I'd  say  for  my  part,  so  be  it — but 
I'll  not  say  it — no,  no — no,  no  1  tlieir  bed  will  be 
hard  enough  without  a  father's  curse  lo  i/he  back  of 
all!  But  oh!  oh!  what  a  foolish  motLcr  does! — 
God  forgive  Ellen !  she'll  have  a  power  to  answer 
for! — and  do  you  know,  Atty!"  he  added  with  an 
anxious,  thoughtful  look,  "I'm  not  sure  but  I'm  to 
blame  myself  as  well  as  her." 

"  Ah    then,   why    would    you    thitik    that,    Mr 
Gallagher?" 

"  Why,  because,  Atty  !  if  I  hadn't  given  her  and 
the  girls  so  much  of  the  tether  as  I  did  all  along 
they  couldn't  have  got  on  with  such  vagaries.  Now 
for  instance,  if  I  hadn't  let  them  go  to  that  unlucky 
Saratoga,  Winter  and  Frost  wouldn't  have  come — 
come  in  their  way.  Well !  I  did  it  for  the  best, 
anyhow ! — it  was  for  peace-sake  I  gave  in, — and  no- 
thing else.  Ah!  many  another  foolish  thing  I've 
let  them  do  for  the  same  reason !  I  wnsh  to  God  I 
hadn't !  However,  there's  no  use  in  fretting  now — 
what's  done,  I  suppose,  can't  be  wndone,  and  we 
must  only  bear  the  burden  the  best  way  we  can ! 
But  oh,  Atty  Garrell !  Atty  Garrell !  it's  a  hard 
thing  to  see  your  family  taking  the  reins  out  of 
your  hands,  and  driving — to  the  devil!  God  pardon 
me !  I  hope  you'll  never  know  what  a  sore  heart  1 
have  this  present  hour!"  — 


TASTE   VERSUS   FASHION 


88b 


mm 


.*-./■  ^'i 


The  agitated   father  then   hurried   away  to  tell 
hiliza  of  what  had  happened,  and  consult  with  her 
aiid  her  husband  as  to  wliat  was  best  to  be  done 
Samuel  shook  his  head  and  looked  grave,  but  Eliza 
was  quite  elated. 

"Two  Southern  planters!  well!  that  was  some* 
thing — not  .il  as  one!"  and  she  looked  so  meaningly 
at  her  husband  that,  '.le  couldn't  choose  but  take  the 
Lint,  »vhich  he  did  with  a  smile  peculiar  to  himself. 

"  Well,  pa!"  went  on  Eliza,  "  what  are  we  going 
to  do  P" 

"  Whatever  you  think  of  doing,  you  may  do  your- 
self," said  Tom,  "  for  I  wash  my  hands  of  the  whole 
business — I  had  nothing  to  do  with  it  first,  and  you 
may  take  my  word  for  it,  I'll  have  nothing  to  do 
with  it  last.'* 

•*Why,  pa,  that  will  never  do! — you  know  they 
may  be  here  to-morrow  morning — in  fact,  any  hour 
— of  course,  they'll  all  stay  at  66,  for  some  time,  at 
least,  till  t\\fy  can  get  houses  to  suit  them?'* 

This  was  cpoken  rather  in  a  tone  of  inquiry,  but 
Tom  answered  very  quickly  :  "  Of  course  they  will 
9wt  stay  at  66 — no,  not  for  one  night !  I  suppose, 
my  two  damsels,  and  your  mother  to  boot,  counted 
on  that,  but  if  they  did  they'll  find  themselves  under 
a  mistake — Ila  1  ha !  ha !  I'll  let  them  see  that  I 
can  be  master  of  my  own  house — when  I  take  the 
notion.  Yfi  can  ask  them  here  if  you  like !"  he 
added  with  a  comical  look  at  Samuel,  who  seemed 


ff^. 


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384 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


to  enjoy  Eliza's  trouble,  though  he  did  not  care  to 
say  so. 

"  Nonsense,  pa !  how  could  /  ask  them  ?"  said 
Eliza  tartly — "  why,  we've  only  one  spare  room  in 
the  house." 

«  Very  well,  then,  let  them  go  to  a  hotel."  And 
that  was  Tom's  last  word,  as  he  left  the  house  fol- 
lowed by  Samuel. 

That  night  about  eleven  o'clock  there  was  a  loud 
and  long-continued  ringing  at  Tom  Gallagher's  door- 
bell. For  some  time  it  received  no  response,  but  at 
last  Ally  Brady  put  her  head  out  of  an  upper  win- 
dow, and  asked  "  Who's  there  ?" 

"  It's  me.  Ally,"  said  the  well-known  voice  of  Mrs. 
Gallagher,  "  be  quick  and  open  tha  door — why,  I 
thought  you  were  all  dead." 

"  I  can't  open  the  door,  ma'am  I  the  master  told 
me  not  on  any  account  to  do  it." 

"  Come  down  this  instant !"  cried  the  excited 
Mrs.  Gallagher ;  do  you  mean  to  say  I'm  not  to  get 
into  my  own  house  ?" 

"  Don't  blame  me,  ma'am,"  expostulated  Ally 
"  you  know  I'd  go  on  my  head  to  let  you  in,  but  the 
master  told  me  I  rausn't  do  it — he  said  the  door 
was  not  to  be  opened  this  night." 

Mrs.  Gallagher  was  speechless  with  anger.  Fanny 
laughed  bitterly  but  said  nothing,  Annie  and  Janie 
began  to  cry,  but  the  two  brides,  partly  guessing 
bow  matters  stood,  suggested  to  their  mother  that 


TASTE    VERSUS    TASIIION. 


S8ft 


It  was  better  to  go  at  once  to  a  hotel,  a  proposal 
which  '^'as  warmly  seconded  by  their  respective 
lords  and  masters. 

"  Go  to  a  hotel !"  repeated  Mrs.  Gallagher  with  a 
toss  of  her  head,  and  a  stamp  of  her  foot,  "  I'll  do  no 
such  a  thing !  —I  must  and  will  get  in  ! — do  you  think 
I'm  going  to  be  turned  away  from  my  own  door  like 
a  beggar  ?" 

.  **  For  God's  sake  go  quietly,  ma'am  !"  said  Ally 
from  above,  "  you  may  as  well  do  it  soon  as  sudden  !" 

The  window  was  suddenly  closed,  evidently  not 
by  Ally  Brady,  and  Mrs.  Gallagher  saw  at  once  that 
no  alternative  remained — to  a  hotel  the  whole  party 
went,  trunks,  bandboxes,  packing-cases  and  all. 

Fanny  laughed  louder  than  politeness  warranted— 
the  Southern  planters  declared  it  a  very  strange  pro- 
ceeding, and  their  wives  apologized  by  saying  that 
Pa  was  very  queer  at  times,  and  did  not  like  to  b« 
c^isturbed  in  his  night's  rest. 


>,.i» 


886 


OU)    AND    NEW  }    OR, 


CHAPTER  XX. 


LIGUT    ON    THE    PICTURE. 


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"  Bertha,  my  dear !"  said  Madam  Voii  Wiegel  on 
the  morning  after  the  echiircissejuent,  "  wliat  are  you 
going  to  do  about  Lady  Susan  ?" 

"  As  how,  mother  ?"  and  Bertha  started  at  the 
name. 

"  Why  in  regard  to  calling  on  her.  Of  course 
etiquette  requires  that  you  should,  and  yet " 

"  Your  yd  anticipates  my  objections,  mother," 
said  Bertha;  "I  know  it  is  my  duty  to  call  on  her 
ladyship  in  consideration  of  our  former  acquaint- 
ance, and  besides  I  have  really  no  sufficient  cause 
for  cutting  the  connection — at  least  nothing  tangible 
— still  I  own  I  cannot  bring  myself  with  any  sort  o4' 
good  grace  to  associate  with  her  on  equal  terms. 
It  may  be  that  she  forgets  all  about  my  being  in 
New  York — if,  indeed,  she  ever  heard  of  it — and  it 
may  also  be,"  she  added  after  a  moment's  pause, 
*'  that  the  renev/al  of  our  acquaintance  would  be  any- 
thing but  agreeable  to  her.  In  any  case  I  will  wait 
a  day  or  two  longer." 

Her  mother  smiled.  "  The  ides  SLrecoine,  Bertha ! 
and  you  would  not  see  this  formidable  personage  till 
ihey  a.re gone? — have  I  guessrd  aright?" 

"  In  part  you  have,  my    dear  mother,  but  the 


TASIK    VKRSUS    FASHION. 


387 


reason  I  have  already  assigned  is  the  principal  one 
that  deters  me  from  doing  in  this  case  what  common 
courtesy  wouKl  require.  I  presume  Major  Montague 
and  Captain  Belle w  have  heen  to  pay  their  devoirs 
yesterday  evening." 

"  It  is  quite  probable,"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel 
thoughtfully ;  then,  as  it"  to  change  the  subject,  she 
suddenly  added,  "  Poor  Robert  Murray  1  to-day  he 
leaves  again ! — I  am  almost  sorry  he  came  when  his 
stay  is  necessarily  so  short.  Of  course,  he  will  come 
to  bid  us  good-bye.'' 

"  I  should  think  he  wouW,"  said  Bertha  with  a 
faint  smile,  and  then  the  subject  dropped. 

The  hours  of  that  day  dragged  heavily  along. 
Mr.  Murray  called  in  the  forenoon,  and  said  that 
Robert  would  call  on  his  way  to  the  cars.  "  I  be- 
lieve he  almost  shrinks  from  coming  at  all,"  said  the 
old  man  with  a  serious  and  anxious  look  very  dif- 
ferent from  the  vivacious  cheerfulness  of  his  wonted 
manner.  "  Bertha  !"  said  he,  as  if  by  a  sudden  im- 
pulse, "  is  there  no  hope  for  Robert  ? — must  we  all 
give  up,  once  and  for  ever,  the  hopes  we  had  so 
cherished  ? — Madam  Von  Wiegel !  can  you  do  no- 
thing in  the  way  of  bringing  Bertha  back  to  reason  ?" 

"  Back,  Mr.  Murray  ?"  repeated  Bertha  with 
emphasis. 

"Well!  I  didn't  exactly  mean  that,  you  know, 
but — but — in  short,  I  scarce  know  what  I  meant — 
and,  by  ray  word.  Bertha  Von  Wiegel!  I  don't  know 
What  you  mean  by  your  present  course.     You'll 


t  \ 


■'f. 


■J*' 


388 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR. 


B^l''*-'    .■ 


Sft' 


?s!ft;^ 


;m1 


,^^^ 

f:^-! 


■MB 

^1= ■ 


never  get  one  that  Toves  you  better  than  Robert, 
and  I  think  he  is  about  as  preseuvaole  as  most  men— 
though,  to  be  sure,  he  is  not  a — ahem! — a  Spanish 
Don !" 

"My  dear  sir,"  said  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  "you 
do  not  see,  but  /see  and  know,  that  you  are  givini^ 
pain  to  my  daughter  by  pursuing  this  subject.  May 
I  beg  that  you  will  spare  her  a  little  more,"  sho 
added  smiling,  "  than  you  seem  inclined  to  do  ?" 

"  Certainly,  madam,  certainly,"  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman, his  good  humor  being  proof  against  almost 
every  dart,  *'  but  I'd  like  to  know  who  spares  my 
poor  boy — eh.  Bertha?  Well!  well!  shake  hands, 
at  all  events! — let  us  be  friends  all  round,  if  nothing 
more !  I  forgot  to  say  that  Alice  sends  her  love — 
she  would  have  been  with  me  were  it  not  for  a  bad 
headache  she  has  got !— poor  thing  I  she  is  moi  o 
troubled  about  Robert  than  she  cares  to  own,  even 
to  me  I"  • 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  sighed  and  looked  at  her 
daughter,  but  said  nothing.  A  hasty  and  silent 
shake-hands  and  Mr.  Murray  hurried  away. 

Bertha  looked  for\Vc*.d  with  no  very  pleasurable 
teelings  to  Robert's  farewell  visit,  and  her  mother 
delicately  forbore  any  allusion  to  the  subject,  feel- 
ing, probably,  that  her  interference  could  do  no 
good  to  any  of  those  concerned. 

When  Robert  did  make  his  appearance  he  looked 
pale  and  haggard  beyond  Bertha's  power  to  ima* 
glue.     She    was    much    distressed    and    inwardly 


TASTE    VER.m-s    TASniOIf  gg^ 

«"tled  her,  ho.i:  ,-  ^  S:.'  ?'"'''''■     ^« 
"'ord,  whether  Jlaior  Mn„,         °'  ''^""""  '•'"'  ""« 
'-«■  '.a<l   been  th    f  to    ;'""m   "'"^  ^"P"""  ««'• 
replied  hastily  i„  u,e  ..^S;,  "'"'-  ^°"  ^iegel 

fobeSrraiir;:i:u'fr---"''-'^ 

'>e<-e.     They  have  bu^  t     '  T '  ,"■  '"'"""^  «•<"- 

«Poke,  a.,d  a  crimsorfll       ''''  *■'"  ^^^"^^  =«  •"'« 

-;'t.oI.     He  starteci  to  hil  Lf     '''  "'^  ^°"S'"  *» 

Bertha,"said  he, "  I  asked  you  one .  'o  . 
w.fe-you  refused  me_an,1  r        ,  ""'''"'"''  ">? 

I  'vould  «ever  agat  braH,  ""'^"  "''  "^  >"'■"<»  ^"^t 
""bject.  I  confess  I  half  ''  '"""^  '"  ^^^  o"  t'^e 
brief  visit  to  br  Ik  tlou„h  """^""^  ''"""?  'f"' 

-I A/  that  the  :es!^:fix:h:'''''''"-'"'' »"« 

I  see  farther  iuto  your  hear  ,1  ''""'•     ^"^^''^  ' 

I  see  there  is  uot  a  Zrnl7„Tf  "'" '""'  ^""P'"'*- 
"yself  to  the  stern  u'ofnllX'V'lV  ''''^'' 
"gam,  as  I  told  you  once  bpf?  ^;,        '  ^  '""  y"" 
come  when  you  will  th Tt     /       '  """  "  ^^y  »»? 
"»  one  whose  loZe  wa    Lf  .^?-  ^°'"''  ^'^^^'i 

oharacter  of  a^;  'ZI ,  T,  "«  -  ™-e  in  the 
you  frankly  I  will  do  wha  I  T  ^T""""'  ^  '^" 
""age  from  my  hea^t  ZTJ  T  '"  "^""^  y" 
dreams  ofdrea^y^rylTdin'r"" ''''■'  ''«"''''' 


'-'■Vv 

,  'f  •  ^ 

_  f  ■ 

w 

'*' 

Wfff^ 


w 


■■ij 


.1'^ 


;-t 


If:  ,| 


I.  TV' 


'Mi.:: ,  ^ , 


i'*  p 


y-': 


•t*' 


Bf^^'-' 


'^Sifr>2':: : 


i.^ 


J --4  ■*  ■» 


t.  -■?            '■■^^  ■      ^  t '   -^ 
3i',  '1".  -iStj^  ■  - 


190  .   OI.n   AKT)    VHW  ;   OR, 

"  '  The  light  thai  ne'er  can  Rhine  again 
On  lif«'H  dull  Blream  I' 

Farewell !  mny  i/ou  be  hapi)y  !"  lie  raised  her  hand 
A  moment  to  his  lips,  {jja/ed  with  soi'leiietl  eyes  on 
the  pale  lovely  lace  now  drooping  and  bedewed 
■with  tears,  then  dropped  the  lair  han«l,  and  bowed 
his  head  a  moment  wlnle  Madatn  Von  Wiegel  blessed 
him  as  she  would  a  dear  son,  and  shaking  her  hand 
"warnily  hurried  from  the  house,  never  once  turnini; 
his  head  till  lie  reached  the  avenue  gale.  Ti>en, 
they  wlio  watched  him  from  the  windows  could  sou 
that  he  did  ttirn  and  lake  a  long  last  gaze  at  the 
scene  ol  so  many  happy  hours — the  centre  of  many 
a  brilliant  dream  ! 

Bertha  was  sad,  very  sad  to  think  that  Robert 
Murray  should  leave  them  in  such  a  desponding 
frame  of  mind — she  would  have  advised  him  as  a 
sister  to  submit,  as  a  Christian  should,  to  the  mani- 
fest decree  of  Providence,  and  not  to  allow  his  feel- 
ings and  afTections  to  overcome  his  reason,  but 
somehow  the  words  had  died  away  on  her  lips,  and 
her  tongue  refused  to  utter  them. 

But  her  own  heart  M'as  weary,  and  she  dared  not 
analyze  the  various  emotions  that  kept  it  in  per- 
petual unrest  all  those  long  summer  hours.  Thouglilt^ 
many  hued  and  changeful  as  an  April  sky  Himd 
across  her  mind,  and  anxious  fears  would  make 
themselves  felt,  whilst  hope  had  all  but  vanishcil 
from  her  darkened  mind  and  doubt-chilled  heart. 
Her  mother  watched  her  with  tender  anxiety  as  she 


TASTK   VERSUS   FASIllOIf. 


3Vl 


fliticd  like  a  spirit  tlirongh  Uk?  Bilent  apfirtinontH  in 
the  cool  (liin  light  that  fouii<l   itH  \\",\y  thronprh  iho 


P' 


I't'ii  Vt'iiutian  l)lin<lH,     And  JJcrtha  would  Hmih;  ho 


Bweutly,  HO  Hjuliy  when  ;.ht*ir  eyes  met,  that  it  made 
her  mother's  hvnil  ache. 

"  So  [iHfsM  Jlio  <liiy,  tlio  ovf  ninjT  foil, 
■*r>va.i  noar  llie  lime  of  curfew  h>'\[ — " 

that  is  to  Ray,  the  time  when  in  olden  years 
"  The  curfew  loIlM  tli«  knell  of  partinj;  <lny." 

This,  gentle  reader,  was  eight  o'clock  in  the  even 
ing,  which  hour  in  the  lengtheni»:g  days  of  early 
summer  is  just  the  close  of  day.  The  day  had  been 
warm  and  Hultry,  but  dewy  freshhcss  came  on  the 
twilight's  wings  and  a  soft  breeze  was  playing 
through  the  graceful  branches  of  the  linden  and  the 
larch  that  shaded  the  front  of  Rheinfeldt  House, 
Khaking  perfume  from  the  dewy  blossoms  of  the 
lilac  and  laburnum  and  many  another  pale  sweet 
flower  the  latcat-borii  of  spring.  Bertha  went 
to  her  harp,  and  as  her  fingers  wandered  list- 
lessly through  the  strings,  many  a  long-forgotten 
strain  came  tingling  from  the  silver  chords,  like  the 
ghosts  of  buried  years  thronging  around  us  iu  the 
hush  of  night. 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  arose  softly  and  opened  thfl 
curtains,  for  the  moon  was  just  rising  "  in  silver 
majesty,''  and  she  knew  its  soft  radiance  had  power 
to  soothe  her  daughter's  spirit  even  in  its  darkest 
mood.     Bertha  looked  round  and  smiled,  and  thev 


\  '4  -'-i  ■ 


1  ifev^ 


m 


*v^'?-^ 


vtt 


3d2 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


went  on  with  the  air  she  had  been  playing.  N(^ 
lovelier  ever  stirred  the  charmed  air  of  evening,  an(3 
as  the  notes  sank  into  her  own  heart,  she  sang  in  a 
low  soft  voice,  softer  and  sweeter  than  the  music  of 
the  accompaniment^  the  words  whose  meaning  they 
•o  truthfully  expressed.  The  song  may  not  be 
familiar  as  it  ought  to  many  of  our  readers,  so  we 
give  it  for  their  benefit : 

'*  As  a  beam  o'er  the  face  of  the  waters  imy  glow, 
While  the  tide  runs  in  darkness  and  coldness  below, 
So  the  cheek  may  be  tinged  with  a  warm,  sunny  smile 
Tho'  the  cold  heart  to  ruin  runs  darkly  the  while. 

•'  One  fatal  remembrance,  one  sorrow  that  throws 
Its  bleak  shade  alike  o'er  our  joys  and  our  woes. 
To  which  life  nothing  darker  or  brighter  can  bring, 
For  which  joy  has  no  balm,  and  affliction  no  sting ! 

•*  Oh  !  this  thought  in  the  midst  of  enjoyment  will  stay 
Like  a  dead,  leafless  branch  in  the  summer's  bright  ray ; 
The  beams  of  the  warm  sun  play  round  it  in  vain, 
It  may  smile  in  his  light,  but  it  blooms  not  again."* 

Her  voice  died  gradually  away,  resting  mournfully 
on  tho  last  words.  All  at  once  she  heard  the  door 
open  softly, — then  close, — but  thinking  it  was  her 
oiiother  she  sat  still,  with  the  words  and  the  music 
echoing  through  her  heart ;  a  shadow  crossed  the 
moonlight  on  the  floor,  and  Bertha  looking  up  sur- 
prised, there  stood  Edgar  Montague,  his  arms  folded 
on  his  chest,  and  so  deep  a  shade  of  sadness  on  his 
fine  features  that  he  looked  almost  as  he  did  when 

^  2Aoore^a  Irish  Afelodiea. 


^'^\ 


TAST»  VERSUS    FASHION. 


393 


-  -i-' 
>-**-,! 


Bertha  saw  him  for  the  first  time,  and,  forgetting  for 
the  moment  the  troubled  years  that  had  passed  since 
then,  she  started  to  her  feet  and  exclaimed  some- 
what wildly : 

''Edgar — Major  Montague!  how  is  this?  I  did 
not  expect  to  see  you  now."  i 

"  In  that  case  I  owe  you  an  apology,*'  said  Mon- 
tague dejectedly. 

"But  are  you — are  you  alone?"  she  asked,  glanc- 
ing round.  Strange !  in  the  spacious  drawing-room 
there  were  but  themselves.  "  Where  is  Captain 
Bellew? — and  my  mother  was  here  but  now?" 

Montague  smiled  as  he  answered:  "If  so, phe  has 
vanished  and  Gerald  with  her." 

"  Gerald !"  said  Bertha  softly  as  if  to  herseh", 
"  the  name  sounds  familiar — it  recals  days  long 
past." 

"  And  it  is  to  recall  those  days  to  your  mind,  Miss 
Von  Wiegel,  that  I  am  here  now,"  said  the  musical 
voice  at  her  side.  She  started — it  was  the  tone  she 
had  so  often  heard  in  dreams — never  before  even 
from  him.  She  was  composing  her  thoughts,  how- 
ever, to  answer  collectedly,  when  Montague,  throw- 
mg  open  the  glass  door  that  led  to  a  verandah  over- 
looking the  garden,  pointed  to  the  lovely  scene 
without,  and  said :  "  Once  more.  Miss  Von  Wiegel, 
before  we  part,  perhaps  for  ever,  I  would  stand  by 
your  side  for  a  few  brief  moments,  as  of  old,  and, 
with  heaven's  blue  vault  above  us,  and  ity  myriad 
Btars,  aiid  yon  silver  moon,  and  the  stillness  of  tb« 


■■-.  :  K ' 


394 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


night  around,  call  up  memories  of  the  past,  an'1 
question  the  mysterious  future.  Will  you  grant 
me  this  one  favor  ?" 

He  tooiv  Bertha's  hand,  and  drew  her  half  uncon- 
sciously to  herself,  to  the  moonlit  verandah,  par- 
tially shaded  by  the  overhanging  branches  of  a 
spreading  maple. 

"  Major  Montague  !"  said  Bertha,  when  the  sense 
of  her  position  impressed  itself  on  her  mind,  "  Major 
Montague,*'  and  she  drew  herself  up,  "  I  confess  I 
do  not  understand- 


»> 


"  How  I  have  taken  such  a  liberty — asked  such  a 
favor,"  put  in  Montague.  "  Will  you  pardon  me  if 
I  say  that  that  is  because  you  never  understood  my- 
self. There  was  a  time  when  I  thought  you  did,  but 
that  is  long  past."  Both  were  silent  a  moment,  then 
Montague  added :  "  Do  you  remember.  Bertha !  I 
mean  Miss  Von  Wiegel !  when  we  stood  on  just  such 
a  night  as  this  beneath  the  sepulchral  yew  in 
Mucruss  Abbey — the  others  were  trying  to  deciphCi* 
the  Latin  inscriptions  on  the  tombs  of  the  eld 
monks." 

"  How  well  you  remember!"  said  Bertha  with  a 
faint  smile." 

"  Remember  I  why  should  I  not  ?"  he  asked  with 
emphasis.  "  But  I  was  speaking  of  the  conversation 
thai  passed  between  us  two  that  night  on  Innis- 
falien.  I  told  you,  then,  that  the  star  of  my  destiny 
was  struggling  through  clouds  like  one  that  ] 
pointed  out  over  the  lofty  brow  of  Mangerton," 


'^■•« 


fASTE    VKRSUS    FASHION. 


395 


"Clouds,  indeed,"  murmured  Bertha,  half  abstract- 
edly, fixing  her  eyes  on  the  pale  planet  that  waa 
Bailing  across  the  deep  blue  sky  in  lonely  majesty. 

Montague  looked  at  her  a  moment  wiih  that 
Strang?] f -sweet  smile  peculiar  to  him&clf,  then  re- 
sumed: 

"You  do  not  seem  much  interesiad  in  what  T  arn 
Baying,  Miss  Von  Wiegel,''  he  said  rather  coldly, 
*'  have  I  your  permission  to  go  on  ?" 

Bertha  bowed  assent,  and  he  continued  :  "  I  told 
you  the  clouds  were  darkening  round  me,  and  that 
there  were  times  when  I  almost  di'spaired  of  extri- 
cating myself.  You  told  me  in  a  voice  I  can  never 
forget,  and  with  a  look  that  expressed  more  than 
the  words,  that  there  was  One  who  could  nnd  would, 
if  I  only  trusted  in  Him,  have  turned  my  heart  from 
the  evil  way.  I  was  utterly  confounded  by  the  sig- 
nificant tone  in  which  you  spoke  those  words,  and  as 
soon  as  I  recovered  the  use  of  my  faculties,  I  was 
about  to  ask  for  an  explanaton,  when  one  whom  you 
cannot  have  forgotten — came  and  drew  you  away 
to  look  at  something  in  another  part  of  the  ruins. 
Do  you  remember  all  that  ?"  he  added  in  a  softer 
tone. 

*'  Remember !  yes,  indeed  I  do  I"  said  Bertha,  so 
faintly  that  Montague,  gently  taking  her  hand,  placed 
her  on  a  rustic  seat  that  was  near,  and  remained 
standing  by  her  side. 

"  Did  it  ever  strike  you.  Miss  Yon  Wiegel,"  he 
resumed,  after  a  momentary  pause,  '*  that  our  cod 


I'  "■-.,.■ 


896 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


versations  were  frequently  interrupted  in  a  sirailai 
way,  and  by  the  same  person  ?" 

"  Major  Montague  !"  cried  Bertha,  starting  to  her 
feet,  as  if  impelled  by  some  new  and  overpowering 
impulse,  "  Major  Montague  !  let  me  ask,  once  for  all, 
what  is  the  object  of  these  allusions  to  the  past  ?  Is 
It  to  gather  information  from  me  touching  persona 
with  whom  we  were  then  connected  ?  If  so,  I  warn 
you,  I  know  nothing  about  those  persons  more  than 
you  do — perhaps  not  half  so  much  !'' 

"  My  dear  Miss  Von  Wiegel !"  said  Montague  with 
unwonted  eagerness,  "  you  seem  to  forget  that  I  am 
leaving  New  York  on  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and 
that  now,  if  ever,  I  must  reinstate  myself  in  your 
good  opinion — I  say  reinstate,  for  I  flatter  myself  I 
once  stood  higher  in  your  estimation  than  I  have 
done  of  late." 

Oh  !  the  wild  throbbing  of  Bertha's  heart  at  that 
moment,  but,  exerting  all  her  self-control,  she  forced 
herself  to  say  with  perfect  composure  : 

"  Admitting  it  to  be  so — what  then  ?'* 

"  Bertha !" — the  young  lady  drew  back  a  step, 
and  Montague,  correcting  himself,  went  on :  "  Miss 
Von  Wiegel !  permit  me  to  ask  you  one  question, 
and,  in  the  presence  of  God,  I  demand  a  direct 
answer :  Were  you  not  told  something  very  much 
to  my  disadvantage  that  night  at  the  Druid's  Chair  ? 
— answer  me,  I  charge  you !  as  you  and  I  shall 
one  d'xy  answer  to  God  for  our  thoughts,  words  and 
actions!"  .\   ,  . 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION*. 


397 


"Adjured  so  solemnly,  I  may  not  refuse,"  said 
Bertha,  with  a  pallid  cheek  and  a  quivering  lip;  "  I 
was  told  such  things  then  and  there  as  I  never 
expected  to  have  heard — of  you." 

"I  knew  it,"  he  said  with  a  cold  bitter  smile, 
*I  knew  the  serpeni  hissed  potson  in  your  ear  thai 
night,  and  gave  a  deaih-blow,  as  she  meant,  to  my 
hopes  of  happiness." 

A  flush  of  joy  passed  over  Bertha's  face,  but  Mon- 
tague saw  it  notj  he  was  so  rapt  in  his  own  troubled 
thoughts.  At  length  he  turned  to  Bertha,  and  said 
almost  sternly : 

"Pray,  Miss  Von  Wiegel !  what  was  the  nature 
of  her  ladyship's  communication  respecting  me  ?" 

"Major  Montague!"  said  Bertha  drawing  herself 
up  proudly,  "  I  am  not  aware  that  you  have  acy 
right  to  demand  such  information  from  me " 

"Demand?  assuredly  not!"  and  Montague  smiled 
as  he  caught  the  flashing  glance  that  spoke  a  spirit 
lofty  as  his  own.  "  I  do  but  ask  it  as  a  favor — as 
a  special  favor !"  and  his  voice  grew  soft  as  the 
zephyr's  sigh  that  was  breathing  amongst  the  foliage. 

"  But  is  it  right  for  me  to  tell  you  ?"  Bertha  asked 
n  a  hesitating  manner. 

"  Right !  why  shoi>ld  it  not  be  right  ?  Does  not 
justice  require  that  the  criminal  hear  the  charge  on 
which  life  or  death  depends  ?" 

"  There  was  no  resisting  this,  and  Bertha  repeated 
not  without  some  embarrassment,  the  ominous  words 
ipoken  to  her  on  that  memorable   night  by  Lady 


mmi. 


'fail 

^' 

4  9 

1 

898 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OB, 


Susan.  Montague  listened  in  breathless  attention, 
while  Bertha  spoke  in  a  broken  and  hesitating  voice 
with  a  flushed  cheek  and  downcast  eyes. 

"  It  seemed  strange  that  Lady  Susan  should  ad- 
dress such  words  to  vie^  and  what  her  motive  was  I 
know  not,  but  she  told  me — that  Mr.  Montague  was 
not  free — that  he  was  pledged  to  some  one  whom 
she  did  not  care  to  name " 

Montague  vehemently  broke  in :  "  Did  she  say 
BO  ?  had  she  the  hardihood  to  say  so  ?" 

"  She  did — she  said  those  very  words." 

"And  what  more  did  she  say  ?  Dear  Miss  Von 
Wiegel,  you  will  not  refuse  to  tell  me?" 

"  She  said — oh  Major  Montague !  can  this  be  true  ? 
She  said  there  was  some  unlawful  connection,  and 
spoke — of  a  certain — Edith  Montague " 

"Ha!  and  what  of  ^^r?" 

"  She  said,"  and  Bertha's  voice  fell  to  a  whisper, 
**  she  said  she  was  your  child,  born  in  shame." 

"My  child!  Edith  Montague  my  child!"  cried 
Montague  with  a  look  and  tone  that  startled  Bertha. 
"  Did  Lady  Susan  Blackwood  say  that?" 

"  I  have  told  you  she  did — why  do  you  doubt  it  ?" 

"And  did  you  believe  her  ?  Bertha  Von  Wiegel ! 
look  me  in  the  face  and  say  did  you  believe  me  so 
utterly  vile  as  that  ?" 

She  did  look  up  and  met  his  passionate  glance  for 
a  moment,  but  made  no  answer.  Montague  sighed 
deeply. 

"  You  did,  thon,  believe  that  monstrous  calurany^i 


■0W 


■^•4.». 


TASTE    VERSU3    FASHlbV. 


399 


Bertha  I  I  will  not — cannot  blame  you,  but  I  am 
pained  and  surprised  to  think  that  you  could  accept 
such  a  picture  of  one  whom  you  had  honored  with 
your  friendship." 

For  some  moments  both  were  silent;  Bertha 
lon)i;ed,  yet  feared,  to  ask  for  a  confirmation  of  her 
newly-conceived  hopes,  and  Montague  seemed  as 
though  he  were  debating  with  himselt  as  to  what  he 
should  do.  At  last  he  turned,  and  seeing  Bertha 
still  standing,  he  said  very  gently: 

"  You  must  be  fatigued,  Miss  Von  Wiegel — had 
you  not  better  sit  down  ?" 

"  Pray  excuse  me.  Major  Montague,"  said  Bertha, 
scarce  heeding  the  words,  "  am  1  to  understand  thai 
you  are  innocent  ot^ — of " 

"  or  all  the  crimes  and  misdemeanors  mentioned 
by  your  informant." 

"Of  all?"  repeated  Bertha,  suddenly  raising  her 
eyes  to  his  face. 

"  Yes,  of  all  and  every  one  of  them — as  truly  as  1 
hope  for  Heaven's  mercy  !" 

A  smile  of  ideflfable  joy  shone  in  Bertha's  eyes^ 
but  she  cast  them  down  to  hide  it,  and  merely  said: 
"The  clouds,  then,  are  disappearing." 

She  seated  herself  on  the  rustic  bench,  and  looked 
up  at  Montague  who  stood  before  her  regarding  her 
with  an  expression  which  she  could  not  understand. 

"  Miss  Von  Wiegel !"  said  he  with  some  hesita* 
lion,  "  ii  is  not  very  agreeable,  to  me  at  least,  to 
vpeak  of  oae's  self     There  is  one  part  of  the  expl^ 


■  f 
■ «.  ^ 

'■.,fi 


400 


OLD    AND    XEW  ;    OR, 


ml 


»:^ 

w\ 

nM*l 

»<iM 

ttUTA 

'^ 

»1 

f^l 

'%! 

i 


nation  which  I  feel  bound  to  make  that  is  utterly 
repugnant  to  my  feelings — and  yet  it  cannot  be 
omitted  in  justice  to  myself." 

"  Will  you  not  sit  down  ?"  said  Bertha,  with  tlie 
easy  self  possession  of  her  high  breeding. 

Montague  smiled  and  bowed  as  he  took  tlie 
ofiered  seat  by  her  side.  Both  were  to  all  outward 
appearance  perfectly  calm  and  composed,  whatever 
might  be  passing  within. 

"  I  hope  you  never  suspected  me,  Miss  Yon  Wie- 
gel,"  resumed  the  major,  "  of  being  a  coxcomb." 

Bertha  laughed.  "  Well,  I  must  confess  I  never 
did.  Amongst  all  your  sins — black  as  I  was  led  to 
believe  them — I  never  dreamed  of  tkot." 

♦*  I  am  glad  of  it,  as  otherwise  I  should  fear  the 
more  to  lay  open  for  your  inspection  the  secret 
springs  of  the  plot  that  has  proved  so  injutious  to 
me.  Did  you  ever  remark  anything  particular  in 
Lady  Susan's  manner  towards  me? — I  mean,  of 
course,  anything  incompatible  with  the  re'atiou 
known  to  exist,  or  rather,  likely  to  exist,  b'jtween 
us?" 

Bertha  cast  down  her  eyes  as  she  replied  faintly 
in  the  affirmative. 

"  Ha !  you  saw  it,  then  ? — you  saw  that  whilst  be- 
trothed to  my  brother, — which  was,  indeed,  l*er  Di- 
ther's work  and  my  father's  rather  than  hers  or  Al- 
fred's— her  feelings  towards  me  were  anytb/jg  but 
■iBterly  ?  But  what  you  could  possibly  see  va8  \ttle 
compared  to  what  actually  took  place — roart^iu) 


ta.-^tk  versus  fashion. 


401 


allurement  was  left  untried — and   you  know  how 
captivating  her  ladyship  was  in  those  days." 

Bertha's  heart  beat  fast,  and  she  dared  not  trust 
her  voice  to  speak.  Montague  went  on :  "  Few 
men,  I  flatter  myself,  would  have  come  unscathed 
from  such  a  fiery  ordeal " 

Bertha  leaned  forward  suddenly  and  looked  hira 
in  the  face. 

"  And  did  you?"  she  asked  with  an  intensity  that 
made  her  auditor's  heart  thrill. 

"  I  did !  I  can  truly  say  that  I  regarded  Lady 
Susan  with  no  other  feelings  than  those  of  aver- 
sion— fascinating  as  I  own  she  was — arising  in  the 
first  place  from  a  sense  of  the  injury  done  my  ab- 
sent brother  by  her  advances  to  me;  but  there  came 
a  time,"  he  added  after  a  pause,  *'  when  a  more  po- 
tent shield  was  given  me,  and  a  tower  of  strength 
rose  up  in  my  own  heart  against  the  persevering 
attacks  of  this  Circe.'* 

Bertha  turned  her  beautiful  eyes  full  on  his  face 
with  a  look  of  earnest  solicitude.  She  was  thinking 
of  religion — the  light  of  faith — and  she  asked  in  all 
sincerity :  "  What  was  that  ?" 

Montague  fixed  his  eyes  on  her  with  a  look  of 
reproach  that  made  her  cheek  turn  pale,  then  red. 
His  voice   sank  almost  to  a  whisper   as   he   said 
"Lady  Susan  knew  it,  though  you  did  not." 

"Lady  Susan? — how  do  you  mean ?" 

"  Pause  a  moment  and  reflect,"  said  Montague,  in 
the  same  low,  earnest  tone.     "  You  say  you  thought 


*^ 


r. 

r' 


'::::' 4,':* 


402 


OLD   AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


mi 


_  li   !/;  f'i.. 


'•'•.* 


'.  V  -it' 


It  strange  that  she  should  make  such  a  revelation  to 
you  in  particular.  Ask  yourself  wha*^  possible  motive 
ehe  couUl  have  had  in  blackening  me  to  you.  Love  is 
sharp-sighted — at  least  so  they  way — and  Lady  Susan 
eaw  because  she  loved,  that  which  escap  d  your 
observation.  Let  that  pass,  however  !"  he  added 
quickly.  "  I  think  you  must  now  understand  nil 
that  followed — her  ladyship's  unaccountable  mar- 
riage included." 

"  I  can — I  do,"  said  Bertha  with  honest  warmth  ; 
"I  see  it  all  now, and  you  cannot  think, Major  Mon- 
tague, how  pleased  I  am  to  find  that  you  are  still — 
Edgar  Montague !"  she  added  with  a  look  of  arch 
intelligence,  and  in  a  voice  from  which  all  her  recent 
coldness  and  constraint  had  vanished. 

Montague  bowed  with  mock  courtesy.  "  It  is 
something  to  have  my  identity  acknowledged — but 
you  seem  to  forget  Edith  Montague  ! " 

"  Ah  true  !  and  who  u  Edith  Montague  ? — or  is 
there  such  a  person  ?" 

"  There  is — and  she  is — my  brother's  daughter  I" 

"  What !  Lord  Dunmore  ?"  ^ 

"Even  so,  I  have  no  other.  You  never  heard 
then,  that  poor  Alfred  was  married  when  very 
young — married  privately,  though — to  the  daughter 
of  his  travelling  tutor,  Isabella  Lalor,  a  lovely  and 
amiable  girl  she  was,  too — and  that  death  severed 
the  tic  so  imprudently  formed — on  Alfred's  part,  at 
least — before  my  father  came  to  hear  of  it." 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION.  4^3 

"  Why  no,  I  never  heard  of  \t  f     . u  * 
itory  I"  ^^^  ^'  ^*  I— that  was  a  sad 

"  ^es,  sad  indeed  it  wa^^'co:^  nr 
"-P  fteling;  ..the  poor  ,  ;,  Td  T''''^"''  """ 
•tcly  after  Edith'B  birth  t.d  j't^.'"'"'""  '""""'i- 
•>-  never  <,..ite  got  over 't.  t,,oet  tr f  'T" 
very  tenderly.  Poor  Ale..  , ,, "  ' '"'^ ''^ '°^ed  her 
"ia  eye,,  ■<  L,  ]Z  Kd hh        K  1""  "''^  ""'"^  '" 

«-".edly,tolose\et    ;,,.:'■',''''  '^'^^   •'«-' 
"r  <ee|  a  mother's  careT  '''*  """'^  ''"<>"' 

"And  your  father?" 

he",^o':;d7e::''ix-;j  Tr"''-'  --^ 

«>^  a  time.    If  the    fun^t^LL?'  '^"^  <""^ 
a  eon  who  mi^ht  no.,;!?,    u  *'''  "''even  left 

'-  nngor  would  ave  endued  "  ',"'"'"""'  ^"^  ''''«• 
I-sabella  being  goue,  an  ^  chiM  ??  T.'':  '""'  ""' 
betiveea  me   and  the  famLT  ''''*'^ '"  """"e 

pacified.    In  ayear  o,  tToK  ^?'''  ''"  ^^^^  ^'•^i'y 
-  D"..more,  a  Lr:ht    'i,  ^  t"" "f  ^"«''' 
"Wk,  but  1  did-and  she  was  I  h.r        ?'  '^"'"^  *» 
»"'ace  of  his  last  two  ye.^of  if     7''  "'*  greatest 
gaging,  and  my  dear  la.:  .  .  f"^"^  7',  '"'"^  ^"■ 
warm  and  loving  heart  "     '  '"  *"'"'  '"><1  * 

I-o-'J  Dunmore,  and  she  f^Z  """'  '"^  "■«  '"'<• 
«'at  had  spoiled  so  noble  a!  "  ''*  '^'"•''  «""■"' 

"Tl-erestiseasn;    old'T'"-. 
'-ben  my  father  died' Sj  ^ve"'  '"'^"'■^ 

v^risned  very  naturally 


f? 


1  (, 

h. 


,Vt, 


|Mi^.V^^ 


-S.- 


V  «4  ^  ■  ^ 


iiifii.: 


Illi^.-'^ 


[f^ 


kt;-i->'':?>;      .,.4 

•:.\.r'.    y^f>     V 


i04 


Ol.n    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


to  have  the  child  near  him,  and  at  his  request  T  took 
Iwjr  myself  to  Madrid,  where  we  placed  her  at  school 
II)  a  convent  not  far  from  the  residence  of  the  Eng- 
lish Ambassador.  Are  you  now  satisfied,  Miss  Von 
Wiegel !  that  my  character  was  blackened  to  you 
for  an  evil  purpose  ?" 

"  I  am — fully  satisfieu — may  God  forgive  her  who 
Bo  maligned  you,  and  so  cruelly  shook  my  faith  in 
man  !  But  now  that  I  have  heard  all,  it  is  time  to 
think  of  my  mother  and  your  friend.  Do  let  us  join 
them,  or  we  shall  have  them  coming  in  search  ol 
ns!" 

She  rose  as  she  spoke — Montague  rose,  too,  and 
they  stood  for  a  moment  silent,  looking  out  on  the 
lovely  scene. 

"  If  I  am  again  Edgar  Montagtie,^''  said  the  major 
in  his  most  persuasive  tones,  "  may  I  not  hope  that 
you  are  again  the  Bertha  Von  Wiegel  of  former 
days  ?  Shall  we  not  forget  the  troubled  years  that 
have  come  between,  and  take  up  the  chain  of  life 
from  the  blissful  hours  of  our  earlier  acquaintance, 
before  the  dark  shadow  crossed  our  path  ?  Bertha  !'* 
he  added  in  a  tone  of  such  deep  feeling  that  it 
reached  her  inmost  heart,  "Bertha!  you  know  not 
how  I  have  loved  you  even  when  the  ocean  lay 
between  us !  From  the  first  hour  of  our  acquaint- 
ance I  felt  drawn  to  you  by  an  irresistible  impulse, — 
it  seemed  to  me  that  our  souls  were  assimilated  to 
each  other,  and  my  highest  and  holiest  aspirations 
were  associated  with  you.   Ji'orgive  me  if  I  sf  eak  too 


-     .;  *    -    .-  *     \ 


TA81E    VERSUS    FASHION. 


406 


boldly,  but  there  was  a  time,  Bertha,  when  I  dared  to 
think  that  we  were  formed  for  each  other,  and  that 
you  were  destined  by  Providence  to  lead  me  to  the 
temple  of  truth — but  that  dream  of  hope  vanished  all 
too  soon — I  saw  that  you  had  learned  to  doubt  me, 
and  could  not  help  feeling  that  Lady  Susan  was  in 
some  way  the  cause — but,  believe  me,  I  had  no  idea 
of  the  depth  to  which  I  had  fallen  in  your  estima- 
tion. Even  as  it  was,  I  was  so  hurt  by  your  evi- 
dent distrust  of  me  and  the  corresponding  change  in 
your  manner,  that  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  seek 
an  explanation.  But  oh !  the  dreariness  of  those 
long,  long  years  during  which  I  saw  you  not,  nor 
heard  your  voice  I  It  was  partly  to  combat  the  in- 
creasing melancholy  that  was  preying  on  my  heart 
that  I  purchased  a  commission,  hoping  that  the 
bustle  of  military  life,  and  its  strict  routine  of  duty, 
might  break  the  spell  that  bound  me,  and  banish  the 
cold,  statue-like  image  from  my  heart ^" 

"  Statue-like,"  repeated  Bertha,  without  raising 
her  eyes ;  "  you  are  complimentary,  are  you  not  ?" 

"  I  speak  the  truth  : — there  was  no  love,  no  life  in 
tho  image  that  was  shrined  in  my  heart — it  was  cold 
as  marble,  yet  there  it  stood — yes  !  even  when  the 
revel  was  loudest,  and  laugh  and  song  were  gayest 
round  the  mess-table — when  smiles  were  brightest 
in  the  lighted  hall — and  when  the  sound  of  prancing 
Bleeds  and  martial  music  made  the  life-pulse  quicken — 
Btill  that  pale,  cold,  loveless  image  reigned  supreme. 
Wherever  I  went  you  were  there — I  heard  youi 


J, 

i; 

i, 
V 

,4 

1  \ 

! 

.',''>■ 

* . 

t'        , 

)j 

V 

l"    '.. 

■9 

I. 

■**' 

■:f 

r-i'.: 


W''< 


I 


i06 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


?...> 


■Vi 


voice  in  the  whisperiug  breeze  and  the  murmuring 
■water — I  saw  you  in  all  that  was  fair  and  lovely, 
and  I  pined  for  the  love  of  the  one  heart  that  I  knew 
could  beat  responsive  to  my  own.  I  moved  through 
the  dull  routine  of  life  as  one  in  a  dream — little  heed- 
ing, perhaps  little  heeded — and  no  living  soul  knew 
aught  of  what  was  passing  within  me  except  GeraKl 
Belle  w — my  ever-fuithful  friend.  At  length  a  burn- 
ing desire  took  possession  of  me  to  see  you  once 
more  and  learn  from  your  own  lips  what  cloud  it  was 
that  had  obscured  the  heaven  of  our  friendshi[». 
You  know  how  we  gained  admission  here,  and  I 
need  hardly  tell  you  that  although  I  found  you  still 
Estrange  and  cold  as  before,  I  could  not  teai  myself 
iway,  nor  yet  summon  courage  to  seek  an  explana- 
tion, seeing  that  the  result  might  be  a  final  separa- 
tion and  efface  the  last  vestige  of  hope." 

Bertha  could  not  trust  her  voice  for  some  mo- 
ments, but  as  soon  as  she  could  venture  to  speak 
she  said  in  a  low  subdued  voice:  "And  how  came 
Lady  Susan  here  now?*'  ■ 

"  That  I  know  not — I  solemnly  assure  you  I  have 
neither  seen  nor  spoken  to  her  yet,  although  that 
drivelling  dotard,  her  husband,  called  upon  us  at 
our  hotel  the  very  morning  after  their  arrival,  and 
wished  us  to  call  on  Lady  Susan.  But  now,  Ber- 
tha! time  presses — one  word  more  and  I  have  done. 
Are  we  friends  a^ain  i*"  And  he  took  her  two  handi 
m  his. 

"  Yea,  Edgar  I  we  are  friends  I*' 


Taste  versus  fashion. 


407 


His  dark  eyes  flashed  their  light  into  her  soul  aa 
he  whispered  :  "  And  nothing  more  ?    Say,  Bertha 
are  we  only  friends  ?     Is  there  nothing  due  from 
you  to  me  after  years  of  unrequited  love,  and  years, 
too,  of  unjust  suspicion?" 

Bertha  looked  up  into  his  face  with  a  bright  smile. 
"  For  the  suspicion  I  owe  you  an  apology,  for  the 
love — nothing." 

"And  why,  dearest?'* 

"  Because" — and  she  drew  her  hands  away,  and 
receded  towards  the  door — "  because,  Edgar  Mon- 
tague !  the  marble  image  of  which  you  spoke  h.id  a 
throbbing  heart  when  you  thought  it  coldest — and 
Its  every  throb  was  yours  !" 

She  vanished  through  the  doorway,  but  on  the 
threshold  met  Gerald  Bellew,  who  laughingly  sa- 
luted her  with — 

"  When  should  lovers  breathe  their  vows, 
When  should  ladies  hear  them, 
When  the  moon  is  on  the  boughs, 
And  none  el^e  is  near  them." 

"  Whither  so  fast,  fair  lady  ?"  She  darted  past 
him,,  dnd  threw  herself  into  her  mother's  arms  in 
the  now  lighted  drawing-room,  murmuring:  "  Oh, 
moV  fl«r  !  I  am  so  happy  !" 


v/t: 


408 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OB, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 


TUB    GALLAGHERS    UNDER    A    CLOUD. 


^*yA 


A' 


I 


W  'J. 


There  was  a  scene  in  the  Gallagher  mansion  on 
the  day  following  the  nocturnal  arrival  of  the  Sara- 
toga party.  Mrs.  Gallagher  was  home  betimes  in 
the  morning,  with  Fanny  and  her  two  youngest 
daughters,  and  her  voice  was  the  first  sound  that 
reached  her  husband's  ears  when  he  started  from 
a  troubled  dream  a  little  before  his  usual  hour  of 
rising.  She  was  evidently  exercising  her  vocal 
organs  on  Ally  Brady  and  her  assistant,  partly,  as 
Tom  supposed,  in  order  to  make  up  for  lost  time, 
and  partly  to  "  revenge  her  spite"  on  all  the  occu- 
pants of  66.  It  was  something  that  Tom  could  not 
understand,  and  probably  never  did  understand,  why 
his  angry  spouse  did  not  charge  directly  on  the 
centre  that  morning  instead  of  wasting  her  powerful 
energies  on  the  wings  of  the  domestic  army.  Now, 
as  aut'iors  have  a  decided  advantage  over  the  actors 
they  place  on  the  stage,  as  regards  secret  springs 
and  motives,  we  may  tell  the  reader  in  confidenoo 
that  good  Mrs.  Gallagher  was,  for  once  in  her  life, 
a  little  afraid  to  face  Tom,  and  was,  therefore,  by 
no  means  anxious  to  precipitate  the  moment  of 
their  meeting.  So  she  employed  herself,  pending 
the  moment  of  his  appearance,  in  a  general  survey 


\^ 


«3 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


409 


ot  ihe  ptMtnises,  accompanied  by  a  running  comment 
on  what  came  under  her  observation,  which  com- 
ment wasi  not  very  complimentary  to  Ally  Brady's 
admlnistration/,ro  tem,SLnd  being  delivered  in  a  sharp 
falsetto  voice,  reached  Tom's  ears  before  mentioned, 

"When  half  awaking  from  fearful  slumbers," 

but,  alas !  Tom  Gallagher  hearing  it  did  not 

" Think  the  full  choir  of  heaven  near." 

He  arose,  however,  and  descended  as  soon  as  might 
be,  to  the  nether  region  of  his  domicile,  following 
the  direction  of  his  wife's  shrill  voice,  as  herdsmen 
in  forest  wilds  are  guided  to  their  missing  sheep  or 
cattle  by  the  sound  of  their  respective  bells. 

The  greeting  between  the  husband  and  wife  was 
neither  kind  nor  cordial ;  and  Tom  telling  Ally  to 
hurry  in  the  breakfast,  went  into  the  front  basement 
whc/e  he  found  his  three  daughters. 

Before  many  words  had  passed — for  even  Fanny 
was  a  little  abashed  in  her  father's  presence  that 
memorable  morning — Mrs.  Gallagher  bustled  in  in 
advance  of  the  breakfast. 

*'  Tom  !"  said  she,  as  she  took  her  wonted  place  at 
the  table  and  began  to  arrange  the  cups  and  saucers 
en  the  trs^y,  "  Tom !  we  must  see  and  get  them  girls 
home  to-day.  The  poor  things  feel  dreadful  bad  on 
Hccount  of  what  happened  last  night.  I  wonder  at 
you,  Tom.  to  act  so  and  the  two  strangers  to  tha 
ibre !" 

'•  Strangers  I"  said  Tom  with  more  acerbity  thau 


1-,  ji.  •  A 


:m 


;•-  "^l.^  ■■ 


^r 


v;--: 


»5.».  » 


WW- 


m 


m 


IS 


.^?M'^ 


^■•iS 


410 


OLD    AND    NEW  ; 


OR, 


might  be  expected  from  that  placid  good  nature  that 
usually  distinguished  him,  "  strangers !  and  is  it  to 
strangers  you've  married  your  two  daughters, 
Ellen?'' 

*'  Oh  nonsense !  Tom,  that's  nothing — they'll  not 
be  long  strangers,  you  know!  I'm  sure  you'll  be  de- 
lighted with  them  when  you  come  to  know  them — 
they're  such  nice,  genteel  young  men — I  tell  you 
what,  Tom!"  she  added  confidentially,  "if  you  knew 
but  all  it's  a  fine  chance  for  Mag  and  EUie,  and  I  can 
tell  you  half  the  young  ladies  at  Saratoga  were  crazy 
after  them.     Weren't  they,  Fanny  ?" 

Miss  Fanny's  corroboration  of  the  evidence  was  not 
so  hearty  or  yet  so  prompt  as  her  mother  expected, 
and  that  injured  parent  admonished  her  by  a  me- 
nacing gesture  that  she  had  "a  crow  to  pluck  with 
her"  the  first  opportunity. 

"Nice,  genteel  young  men!"  repeated  Tom,  ''and 
what  do  /care  about  their  genteelness?  isn't  every 
loafer  about  the  hotels  a  *  nice  genteel  young  man  ?' 
Brown  and  Green  were  very  nice,  and  mighty  gen- 
teel young  men,  entirely!  but  it  wasn't  for  such 
genteel  young  men*  that  I  educated  my  daughters 
and  scraped  money  together  to  leave  them  inde- 
pendent. Don't  talk  to  me  about  them — I  wash  my 
hands  of  the  whole  business,  and  I  tell  you  once  for 
all,  Ellen !  that  the  girls  must  make  the  best  of  it 
now  with  their  nice  genteel  husbands!  My  threshold 
they'll  never  cross,  or  a  night  they'll  never  sleep 
ander  my  roof— unless  I  find  out  that  the  fellows 


■  '1 


TASTR    VERSUS    FASHION. 


411 


■re  really  what  they  say  they  are — and  that's  what 


Id 


on't  expect." 
"  Why,  Lord  bless  me,  Tom  !"   cried  Mrs.  Gal* 
lagher   bristling   up,  "  you  don't   mean  to  say  that 
you'll  deny  your  own  daughters 


V" 


u 


If  they  had  respected  me  as  their  father  I  would 
not,  EL'en  ! — God  forbid  !  but  they  didn't  do  that — 
and  now  I  tell  you  again,  as  tkey  brewed,  so  they 
must  bake.  Not  a  word  more  now !  Let  them 
stick  to  Frost  and  Winter — Vm  done  with  them !" 

Tom  had  by  this  time  swallowed  a  cup  of  coffee, 
and  he  left  the  table  without  saying  another  word, 
leaving  his  wife  in  a  state  of  consternation  and  dis- 
appointment that  were  hard  to  describe. 

Without  loss  of  time,  the  anxious  mother  repaired 
to  the  hotel  where  the  two  brides  awaited  the  sum- 
mons to  go  home,  or  perhaps,  Pa  himself  to  escort 
them.  Alas!  alas!  for  human  expectations.  The 
long  morning  past  away,  and  Pa  appeared  not,  nor 
yet  any  one  from  him.  They  had  almost  made  up 
\heir  minds  to  venture  home,  when  their  mother  ar- 
rived with  the  rather  unpleasant  news  that  the  pa- 
ternal doors  were  closed  against  them,  and  the  pa- 
ternal roof  was  not  then,  at  least,  to  cover  their 
heads.  Messrs.  Winter  and  Frost  looked  very  in- 
dignant, and  threatened  to  take  their  departure 
(with  their  wives,  of  course)  instantcr  for  '  the  land 
of  cotton."  They  had  a  great  mind  to  do  it,  tiiey 
said — but  they  didn't,  owing,  doubtless,  to  the 
urgent  solicitation  of  their  wives,  and  the  repeated 


"^    .  1 


-.■■■.:"''!« 


413 


OLD    AND    NEW  )    OR, 


,  f  •'. 


?^\M4t'i'^ 


Assurance  of  their  mother-in-law  that  Tom  would 
soon  get  over  it — s/ie  knew  his  way — the  first  of  him 
was  always  the  worst — and  after  a  week  or  two  he'd 
come  round  again  and  be  as  good  as  pie. 

However  "  the  gay  bridegrooms"  might  feel,  or 
what  their  opinions  were  they  kept  between  them- 
selves, blandly  informing  Mrs.  Gallagher  that  it  was 
"  all  right.'*  Meanwhile  Eliza  and  her  husband 
called  on  the  young  couples,  and  were  so  taken  with 
their  new  brothers-in-law  that  they  invited  them  all 
to  stay  at  their  house  until  such  time  as  Pa  had 
cooled  do*yn  and  come  to  his  senses  again.  The  Fo- 
gartys  and  Hacketts  were  invited,  with  a  few  other 
friends,  to  meet  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Winter  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frost.  By  a  strange  coincidence  the  elders  of 
the  respective  families  absented  themselves  from 
"  the  party,"  but  the  young  people  were  delighted 
with  the  ease  and  affability  and  what-not  of  the 
gentlemen  from  Dixie,  who  then  and  there  an- 
nounced their  intention  of  taking  Mag  and  EUie  off 
on  a  tour  within  the  week,  indicatiuj^,  at  the  same 
time,  their  intention  of  shaking  the  Manhattan  dust 
off  their  feet  when  they  left  New  York  with  their 
charming  brides. 

Whether  this  alarming  threat,  duly  reported  to 
him,  ad  addenda^  had  roused  Tom  Gallagher's  patar- 
nal  affection  from  its  nap  or  what,  I  am  not  prepared 
to  say,  but  he  returned  home  from  his  business  next 
forenoon  at  an  hour  when  no  one  droamed  of  seeing 
Liin.     To  the  repeated  inquiries  of  his  wife  and 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


413 


ilaughters  as  to  what  brought  him  home,  he  scarcely 
vouchsafed  an  answer,  but  it  was  plain  something 
unusual  had  happened,  and  Tom's  unwonted  silence 
left  his  female  relatives  all  in  the  dark.  At  last  Tom 
spoke,  and  his  words  were  words  of  hope  and  joy 
to  the  troubled  mind  of  his  anxious  helpmate. 

"  Go  for  the  girls !"  said  Tom  in  a  magisterial  tone, 
addressing  his  wife. 

"  The  girls !  dear  me,  Tom !  are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  I  am — go  and  bring  them  home !" 

"And — and  their  husbands?" 

"  To  be  sure — I  don't  want  to  part  husband  and 
wife.  Let  Frost  and  Winter  come — as  they  will  1" 
he  added  in  an  under  tone. 

Each  of  the  girls  volunteered  to  go,  but  no !  their 
mother  conld  not  let  any  one  else  go  on  so  delight- 
ful an  errand,  so  off  she  went.  Many  little  arts 
were  employed  by  the  girls,  but  unsuccessfully,  to 
coax  their  father  to  tell  them  the  secret  of  this  sud- 
den change — for  they  knew  there  was  a  secret — so 
they  told  him — but  Tom  was  not  to  be  coaxed  on 
that  occasion,  and  wrapped  himself  up  in  a  mantle 
of  reserve,  which  was  proof  against  all  manner  of 
assailment.  By  and  by  a  gentle  ring  came  to  the 
door — a  very  gentle  ring,  and  Tom  himself  hastened 
to  answer  the  summons.  The  girls  ran  to  get  a  peep 
through  the  half-open  door  of  the  parlor,  but  la !  it 
was  only  Atty  Garrell,  and  they  heard  their  father 
Bay  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  ushered  him  in :  "  You're 
just  in  time,  Atty !  I  expect  them  every  minute,  and 


ii?;'-i..'ft. 


•:•■/ ' 


rv-v 


vv,- 


SM' 


»VC!";v 


414 


OLD   ANU   NEW  j   OR, 


I  wouldn't  for  all  the  time  you'll  lose  have  you 
miss  It." 

"  Miss  what?"  said  the  young  ladies  one  to 
another,  but  alas !  there  was  none  to  answer  the 
question. 

A  little  while  and  another  ring  came — a  loud,  im- 
perative ring,  which  could  only  be  given  by  tlie 
hand  of  Mrs.  Gallagher,  and  Mrs.  Gallagher  surely  it 
was,  and  EHie  and  Mag  and  Jerome  Winter  and 
Ruben  Frost,  all  of  whom  were  duly  ushered,  or 
ushered  themselves,  into  the  parlor.  Mag  and  El  lie 
were  seized  with  an  extraordinary  fit  of  filial  atfec- 
tion  at  the  sight  of  their  dear  Pa,  whom  they  had 
not  seen  for  a  whole  age,  and  their  caresses  were 
quite  overpowering.  But  somehow  Pa  did  not 
seem  at  all  moved  by  this  unusual  display,  and  his 
cool,  dry,  matter-of-fact  salutation  was  not  very  en- 
couraging to  the  young  ladies  whose  hearts  were 
so  brimful  of  love  and  joy,  and  hope  and  expectation, 
and  all  manner  of  pleasant  emotions. 

As  for  Messrs.  Winter  and  Frost,  Tom  contented 
himself  with  a  somewhat  gruff  nod  to  each,  with 
the  further  addition  of  a  curt  "How  d'ye  do,  sir?' 
Whereto  the  much-amazed  Southerners  responded 
with  a  rather  hesitating  assurance  that  they  were 
respectively  "  Quite  well." 

"  God  keep  you  so,  gentlemen  !"  was  Tom's  very 
amicable  reply,  "  Pm  thinking  you'll  need  both 
!iealth  and  strength  to  keep  up  these  girls  in  an^ 
io*  t  of  a  decent  way  1" 


< 


"t  gl-$i!5 


TASTE  VERSU3  FASHIOy. 


415 


"  Oh  !  as  for  that,  Mr.  Gallagher  !"  said  Winter  in 
a  very  confident  tone,  "  I  guess  there  a'p.l  much  to 
apprehend." 

"  Humph !"  grunted  Tom,  half  aloud,  "  I  didn't 
know  people  guessed  down  South  !" 

Hearing  this  Fanny  coughed  aiFectedly,  and  Atty 
Garrell  drew  his  chair  a  little  out  from  his  usual 
station  behind  one  of  the  doors.  Mr.  Fvost  looked 
at  Mr.  Winter  with  a  slight  expression  of  dissatis- 
faction on  his  face — which,  by  the  way,  was  decidedly 
a  la  corsair  in  its  general  character — but  whether  as 
regarded  the  nature  of  their  reception  or  his  choice 
of  words  that  gentleman  had  no  means  of  ascer- 


taming. 


Mrs.  Gallagher  was  not  quite  satisfied  with  the 
aspect  of  affairs,  and  still  less  the  two  brides,  but 
they  all  had  to  put  the  best  face  they  could  on  the 
matter,  and  feign  a  contentment  which  they  did  not 
feel. 

And  Tom  sat  looking  at  them  all  through  his 
half-shut  eyes,  occasionally  glancing  at  his  friend, 
Atty,  behind  the  door  opposite  him,  with  an  expres- 
sion hard  to  define,  but  unmistakeablytroubled. 

At  length  Mrs  Gallagher,  tired  of  this  strange 
uncertainty,  and  anxious  to  get  to  the  bottom  of 
the  affair  at  once,  said  to  Mag  and  Ellie :  "  Well, 
girls,  I  guess  you  may  as  well  go  up  stairs  and  tak« 
off  your  things,  now  that  you're  come  hack  for 
good."  She  looked  at  Tom,  and  Tom  looked  at 
her,  and  then  Tom  delivered  himself  as  follow*  • 


M 


♦ '        v. 
.«  . 

•'■' ' 


^!^ 


4l« 


OLD    AND    NEW  )    OR, 


"  Well !  I  don*t  know  they've  come  for  good.^ 
Ellen,  in  regard  to  the  room " 

"  The  room  !  how  ifl  that  ?  I  m  sure  there's  room 
enough !" 

"  There  is  now,  Ellen  !  but  it  won't  be  long  fo. 
We  must  cut  our  coat,  you  know,  accoroling  to  the 
cloth,  and  the  cloth  will  be  stinted  enough,  I  can 
tell  you." 

"  Dear  melhow  you  talk  !"  said  Mag. 

*'  Why,  he's  enough  to  frighten  one,  I  declare !' 
affectedly  sighed  Ellie,  whilst  Fanny  opened  her  eye€ 
very  wide  and  fixed  them  on  her  father. 

"  Tom  Gallagher  I"  said  the  mother  of  the  family, 
"  what  do  you  mean  ? — out  with  it  at  once  whatever 
it  is — I'll  engage  it's  some  of  your  foolish  tricks 
you're  playing !" 

"  It's  a  trick  I  wouldn't  liko  to  play  often,  then," 
Baid  Tom  very  much  in  earnest.  *'  Poor  woman  ! 
like  many  a  one  else  in  the  world  you  don't  know 
what  you're  talking  about.  Do  you  know  the  news 
I  got  this  morning  ?" 

Of  course  no  one  did  know,  but  all  were  alarm- 
ingly anxious  to  know. 

"  The  Speculators'  TJank  has  failed  !'*  said  Tom 
in  a  voice  which  V  v:  cried  hard  to  keep  steady,  but 
failed  to  do  so,  and  the  tears  that  filled  his  eyes 
Bhowed  the  depth  and  suicority  of  his  emotion. 

"  Good  Lord,  Tom !  you're  not  in  earnest?"  cried 
bifl  wife,  pale  as  a  ghost,  while  the  daughters  gav« 


TA8TF    VERSUS    FASHlOIf. 


417 


vent  to  their  consternation  in  sundry  exclamations 
of  terror  and  alarm. 

"I  guoss  I  am  in  earnest!"  said  Tom  dolorously 
"  I  oan  tell  you,  Ellen,  I  never  was  in  less  humor  of 
jesiing." 

"  But,  Tom  dear !  are  you  sure  it's  true  ?" 
"  Sure  enough,  God  help  me  !"  and  Tom  drew 
from  his  pocket  the  official  notification,  and  handed 
it  to  Atty  Garrell  to  read,  for  the  sight  of  it  renewed 
his  agitation  so  that  he  could  hardly  command  bis 
voice.  The  letter  being  read,  a  chorus  of  lamenta- 
tion broke  forth  from  the  riother  and  daughters,  tho 
former  bemoaning  the  loss  of  their  hard,  honest  earn- 
ing, the  fruit  of  so  many  years  of  steady  industry, 
the  latter  the  probable  loss  of  position  and  stylish 
living.  EUie  and  Mag  addressed  themselves  particu- 
larly to  their  respective  consorts,  but  those  gentle- 
men appeared  to  take  the  matter  very  coolly, — so 
coolly,  indeed,  that  it  went  far  to  shake  Tom's  sus- 
picions as  to  the  reality  of  their  pretensions.  Quite 
philosophical  they  both  were,  and  made  as  little  to 
do  about  the  total  loss  of  their  father-in-law's  moncv 
as  though  the  event  in  no  way  affected  tJieir  pros- 
pects. Still  they  courteously  offered  their  condolence 
on  that  very  disagreeable  occasion,  and  Mr.  Frost 
went  on  to  say  with  that  "  laughing  devil  in  his 
sneer,'*  that  he  should  certainly  lose  no  time  in  pre 
paring  Lemon  vale,  S.  C,  for  the  family  rec«^ption 
until  such  time  as  the  affair  had  blown  over  in  New 
York. 


.'I  ^ 


I  f.  ■ 


y 


•..'* 


.  ■!; 


mm 


■■'a 


418 


OLD    AND    NEW  !    OR. 


"  Oh  you  dear  Frost !"  said  his  wife  affectionately 
patting  him  on  the  cheek  or  rather  on  the  whiskers, 
"  how  very  kind  you  are ! — my,  I'm  so  much  obliged 
to  you !" 

Tom,  too,  expressed  his  obligations,  adding,  how 
ever,  somewhat  drily,  that  South  Carolina  was  along 
way  off — and  he*d  sooner  keep  the  family  at  home, 
whatever  way  they  managed.  "  Of  course  I  have 
my  business  still,"  said  Tom,  "and  this  house. 
Thank  God  Mr.  O'Blarney  hadn't  them  in  his 
clutches,  anyhow  !  Oh  !  the  villain  !  the  villain  !*' 
said  poor  Tom,  rising  and  pacing  the  floor  with 
hasty  strides,  "  him  of  all  men — him  of  all  men  to 
rob  people  that  trusted  their  share  in  his  hands  ! 
Didn't  he  pass  for  all  as  one  as  a  Saint,  an  out-and- 
out  voteen,  and  to  hear  him  talk,  you'd  think  he  had 
every  other  one's  interest  at  heart  more  than  his 

own  !     The  black   hypocrite — the   curse  o^ no  ! 

no  !  I'll  not  curse  him,  bad  as  he  is — the  curse  will 
fall  on  him  heavy  enough  without  me  adding  a  stone 
to  the  heap ! — come  away,  Atty  !  we'll  have  to 
work  harder  now !"  beckoning  to  his  faithful  friend 
and  confidant  whose  face  was  very  considerably 
longer  and  lanker  than  usual,  and  the  tears  of  sym- 
pathy standing  in  his  dull  eyes  ;  for  Atty  was  almost 
as  grieved  as  Tom  by  this  sudden  reverse  of  for- 
tune— and  his  guileless  heart  was  troubled  within  him 
at  the  strange  sight  of  his  patron's  sorrow,  so  very 
unexpected,  too,  after  the  apparent  stoicism  which 
be  had  previously  manifested.     Poor  Atty  knew  lit- 


TVSTE    VKRSL'S    FASHIOM. 


419 


tie  of  the  mysterious  workings  of  that  great  mystery, 
the  human  heart ! 

"  But  my  Lord  !  what  are  we  going  to  do?''  cried 
Mrs.  Gallagher,  fdUing  into  a  chair  in  a  state  of 
consternation. 

"  In  the  first  place,"  said  Tom,  •'  we  must  let  oi 
pell  this  house."  (A  groan  from  Mrs.  Gallagher  and 
each  of  the  young  ladies.)  "In  the  next  place,  we 
must  get  rid  of  the  coach,  coachman  and  horses  1" 
(Another  groan  from  the  "  womankind.")  "  Also, 
the  box  at  the  Opera."  ("Mercy  on  us!  Pa!") 
"  And  lastly,  we  must  take  a  small  house  in  York- 
ville,  or  somewhere  out  of  town  where  we  can  live 
cheaper  than  we  do  here.*' 

This  was  the  climax  of  misfortune,  and  the  ladies' 
voices  suddenly  failed  them  ;  pale  and  wan,  and  en- 
tirely hopeless  in  their  misery,  they  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes  and  seemed  at  a  loss  whether  to 
cry  or  not  to  cry.  Meanwhile  the  two  polar  gentle- 
men were  also  exchanging  looks,  hut  of  a  very  dif- 
ferent signification.  Presently  they  took  up  their 
nats  and  canos,  and  Mr.  Winter  spoke  on  behalf  of 
self  and  friend. 

"Before  you  go,  Mr.  Gcillagher,  it  nay  be  well  to 
havo  an  understanding  with  regard  '<o  ^  the  present 
and  future  prospects  of  your  two  daughters  whom 
^^e  have  had  the  honor  of  espousing.'* 

All  eyes  were  instantly  turned  on  the  speaker. 
Mag  and  Ellie  changed  color  and  cast  a  furtive 
glance  at  each  other. 


;* 


•    Ml,.-,;  ^  ?   ■ 


i 


vM' 


420 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


'*  I  am  now,'*  resumed  Mr.  Winter,  "  and  have  al. 
ways  been,  a  lover  of  truth — t  ith,  '  herefore,  com-^ 
pels  me  to  say  that  my  afl'airs  are  at  present  in  such 
ft  condition  that  I  could  not  fiuprjort  rny  wife  in  ^ 
style  corresponding  with  my  wishes — or  her  own 
deserts.  With  a  little  pecuniary  assistance  I  might 
have  extricated  myself  from  my  financial  embarrass- 
ments, and  redeemed  Cucumberville,  my  paternal 
mansion.  As  matters  stand  now  there  is  no  hope 
of  that — I  may  manage  to  make  out  for  myself  r.ntil 
such  times  as  luck  turns,  but  I  could  not,  as  a  mi  n 
of  honor,  commit  my  wife's  existence  to  the  pi^- 
carious  chances  of — the  gammg  table!  Good-bye! 
EUie,  my  dear  !  if  I  leave  you,  it  is  in  safer  keeping 
than  mine '  We  nuiy  meet  again  under  more  fa- 
vorable auspices  1" 

He  was«^gone  before  any  one  present  could  realize 
the  full  meaning  of  his  words ;  Ellie  fainted  in  her 
chair,  and  when  Mag  turned  to  address  her  liego 
lord,  behold  Frost  had  vanished,  too,  doubtless  in 
the  wake  of  Winter,  for,  being  a  much  smaller  man, 
he  could  more  easily  pass  out  unnoticed.  Then  did 
Mag  throw  herself  in  a  chair  and  raise  a  piteous  cry, 
clapping  her  hands  by  way  of  accompaniment,  but 
alas  !  no  one  seemed  to  heed  her,  all  being  intent  on 
restoring  Ellie  to  consciousness.  When  I  say  all,  I 
mean  all  who  had  attention  to  bestow  on  either,  and 
that  was  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  her  two  youngest 
daughters,  for  Tom  stood  looking  on  with  a  face  of 
Btony  indifference,  and  Fanny  was  sobbing  hysteri* 


TASTE    TERSUa   FASHION. 


421 


cally  in  a  corner,  not  from  sympathy  for  her  un 
fortunate  sisters,  but  the  impending  privation  of 
"  style,**  with  a'l  its  concomitants,  horses,  carriage 
liveried  servant,  fine  house,  fine  furniture,  and, 
thoug'.i  last,  certainly  not  least,  the  high  prerogative 
of  leading  off  in  her  own  sphere  of  fashiondom. 
Poor,  poor  Fanny!  how  are  the  mighty  fallen' 
And  so,  perhaps,  thought  Atty  Garrell,  for  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes  at  sight  of  Fanny's  distress,  and 
he  actually  summoned  courage  to  creep  over  to 
where  she  sat,  and  articulate  some  words  of  conso- 
lation, after  his  own  timid  fashion.  Miss  Fanny, 
amazed  at  what  she  considered  his  unwarrantable 
presumption,  turned  on  him  a  look  of  haughty  con- 
tempt that  all  but  annihilated  Atty,  and  there  is  no 
knowing  how  he  would  have  effected  his  escape  had 
not  his  patron's  voice,  reminding  him  of  the  lapse  of 
time,  at  once  recalled  him  to  himself,  and  given  him 
an  opportunity  of  transferring  himself  to  some  place 
beyond  the  range  of  Miss  Fanny's  withering  glance. 
As  Tom  left  the  room  with  Atty  he  looked  with 
something  like  pity  at  the  two  deserted  wives. 

"  God  help  you,  poor  foolish  girls !"  said  he, "  that's 
whit  you  got  by  your  trip  to  Saratoga ! — God 
forgive  you^  Ellen !"  to  his  wife,  "  you're  more  to 
blame  than  they  are  for  this — and  sure  Ws  the  worst 
of  all ! — the  other  misfortune  can  be  repaired — and 
if  it  doesn't,  too,  what  about  it  ? — but  this — we'll 
never  get  over  this !"  He  could  say  no  more,  for 
his  grief  was  choking  him,  and  he  fell  as  if  his  heart 


--,i"^ 


'*•? 


■tA 


mm<:^ 


m. 


;'1?m? 


132 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


would  burst,  under  the  accumulated  load  of  sorrow. 

"But,  my  goodness,  Tom!"  called  his  wife  after 
toim,  "sure  they  can't  leave  their  wives  that  way — 
won't  the  law  compel  them  to  support  them  ?" 

"  Support  your  granny  !"  was  Tom's  rather  con- 
temptuous but  very  comprehensive  answer,  as  h« 
let  himself  out  of  the  hall-door  followed  by  Atty. 

When  they  were  gone,  the  daughters  gathered 
ar*  i  id  their  mother,  ail  bemoaning  their  hard  fate, 
but  J         and  Ellie  in  the  deepest  tribulation. 

"  W  L, ,  then.  Ma  !  what  will  we  do  at  all  ?"  cried 
EUie,  wringing  her  hands  in  a  fresh  outburst  of 
sorrow.  "  What  will  become  of  Mag  and  me, 
above  al!  ?" 

"  Set  up  a  young  lady's  boarding-school,  can't 
you  *?"  rather  tauntingly  asked  Fanny. 

At  another  time  the  taunt  would  have  raised  a 
storm  about  Fanny's  ears,  but  alas  !  for  poor  Ellie 
and  Mag,  they  were  too  sad  and  spiritless  to  take 
any  notice  of  their  sister's  unkiudness,  and  the 
change  touched  Fanny,  albeit  that  her  heart  was 
none  of  the  softest.  It  was  observed  that  from 
that  moment  she  never  once  twitted  either  of  them 
with  their  misfortune. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  girls !"  said  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher compressing  her  lips  very  tightly,  "there's 
a  heavy  load  on  as  this  day,  and  whether  we  will  or 
no,  we  must  bear  it.  There's  nothing  for  it,  then, 
but  put  our  shoulders  together,  and  bear  it  the  best 
Way  we  can.     Do  you  understand  me  now  ?" 


F '*'"<- 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


423 


Fes,  they  all  understood  very  well,  but  it  was 
quite  clear  that  the  proposition  was  not  very  satis- 
"actory.     Fanny,  in  particular,  was  quite  indignant. 

"Why,  ma!   what  can  we  do  more  than  we  have 
^  been  doing?    I'm  sure  we've  worked  hard  enough 

!■  all  the  time,  and  if  you  don't  call  that  putting  our 

shoulder  to  the  wheel,  I  don't  know  what  is  /" 

"  Well !  but  that's  not  euough,"  said  the  mother 
very  decidedly,  "  we  must  come  down — I  say  come 
down  /"  looking  at  each  of  her  wondering  auditors 
in  turn — "  we  must  let  the  people  see  that  we  can 
come  down,  and  a'nt  ashamed  to  do  it,  and  that's 
the  way  to  keep  up  our  independence,  and  keep 
others  frojn  making  little  of  us.  They'll  not  have 
the  laugh  against  us  when  they  see  we  can  take 
things  as  they  come,  and  cut  our  coat  according  to 
our  cloth — as  your  lather  says." 

"  Why,  ma !  what  would  you  have  us  do  ?"  again 
asked  Fanny,  in  right  of  her  seniority. 

*'  Just  this,  Fanny ;  what  has  to  be  done  let  it  be 
done  at  once !  You  know  in  your  hearts  we  have 
done  wrong,  and  now  we  must  try  and  do  right. 
It's  true  enough  for  your  father,  these  matches  wo 
made  at  Saratoga  are  worse  than  all  the  rest.  We 
must  help  your  poor  father  all  we  can,  hy  giving  up 
all  unnecessary  expense.  First  of  all  we'll  move 
into  a  smaller  house,  and  maybe  we  could  sell  or 
let  this  one,  furniture  and  all.  The  next  thing  we 
must  do  is  to  dress  plainer '* 

This  lost  proposition  was  even  more  dietastefal 


I*;'" 


ii'   I 


ill.  ■    ■  r 


1  «•  "  • 


I*' 


Mil 


VP: 


'^i 


m 


424 


OLTT  AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


than  the  other ;  even  Mag  and  Ellie  were  roused  bj 
it  from  their  lethargy  of  woe. 

"  La,  ma  !  how  you  do  talk  ! — dress  plainer, 
indeed !" 

"  My  !  you  might  just  as  well  say,  let  us  lie  right 
down  under  the  people's  feet,  and  invite  them  to  walk 
over  us  1'* 

"  Dress  plainer,  indeed !  well  now,  if  that  a'ni 
good  !'*  disdainfully  said  Fanny. 

"  Good  or  bad,  Fanny !  it  must  be  done !"  said 
her  mother  emphatically,  "there  an*t  any  help  for  it. 
It  8  very  like  your  father  will  need  all  the  money  he 
can  raise  to  carry  on  the  business,  and  when  once 
we'id  depending  on  what  he  makes,  without  any- 
thing to  fall  back  on,  we  needn't  think  to  keep  up 
style  in  any  way!  So  now,  girls,  I've  told  you 
what's  to  be  done,  and  let  there  be  no  more  talk 
about  it.  Maybe,  it's  all  for  the  best,  after  all — at 
any  rate,  we  must  try  and  make  it  so!  Come,  come, 
Mag !  and  you,  Ellie !  cheer  up — there's  no  cure  for 
spilt  milk,  you  knowl  and  crying  and  fretting  won't 
bring  anything  back  that's  gone!  Maybe  you're 
well  rid  of  Frost  and  Winter,  and  you  don't  know 
what  luck  may  turn  up  to  you !" 

Mag  and  Ellie  shook  their  heads — they  did  not 
see  what  luck  cou/d  turn  up  for  them,  and  in  any 
case  there  was  the  disgrace  and  humiliation  of  being 
so  entrapped  first,  and  then  deserted.  This  was 
the  cruellest  thought  of  aM,  and  all  their  mother's 
characteristic  energy  could  not  infuse  hope  or  con- 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION 


42f 


tentmeut  into  their  minds — at  least  for  the  pres 
ent. 

One  thing,  however,  was  certain,  viis. :  that  the 
daughters,  married  and  single,  however  they  might 
grumble  and  fret  at  the  new  line  of  policy  markec* 
out  by  their  mother,  could  not  help  seeing  that  shf 
was  in  the  right,  and  they  really  respected  hermorf 
at  that  moment  than  they  had  ever  done  before,  ir 
her  days  of  unlimited  power  and  equally  unlimitc<? 
ostentation. 

No  time  was  lost  in  making  the  necessary  re 
trenchments,  and  only  one  month  after  the  failure 
of  the  Speculators*  Bank,  i,he  Gallaghers  found  them 
selves  located  in  a  two-story  cottage  not  far  ivow 
the  line  of  the  Third  Avenue  Railroad,  furnished  in 
corresponding  style,  and,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  ir 
far  better  taste  than  ever  the  great  mansion  had 
been.  I  say  not  that  the  greater  simplicity  of  the 
furniture  was  owing  to  any  improvement  of  ta«te  or 
the  part  of  the  ladies,  but  simply  to  the  fact  that 
Tom,  having  now  turned  over  a  new  leaf,  as  he  said 
had  bought  the  furniture  himself,  and  bought  it,  of 
course,  to  his  own  liking. 

In  the  matter  of  dress,  I  regret  to  say,  the  new 
system  of  Economy  was  not  so  visible.  Indeed,  ii 
was  remarked  by  the  scores  of  kind  and  curioui 
individuals  whose  eyes  were  ever  on  the  Gallaghers 
that  the  ladies  went  out  in  extra  style  since  theii 
change  of  residence,  and  were  generally  seen  "  mov 
UJg  under  finery.*'    The  strangoat  thing  of  all  wai 


y.\%\ 


•n 


** 


•  y^ 


Ft 


,'-f  •     ' 


mif 

1 

:,i!.;v  - 

,! 

'■r-'f  ■•  • 

V'  '■■-■■ .  ■ 

^«*  ■,'■■'/■' 

■»   *  ; 

'^^r-/^ 

' 

.'• 

f-j  \.>t'.-;' 


0. 

m 


^W'  '.'1 


Mi 


.i«^ 


426 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


that  Atty  Garrell  himself  began  to  dress  up  quite  a  la 
mode,  and  to  hohi  his  head  some  inches  higher  since 
the  Gallaghers  fell  from  their  high  estate.  There 
was  no  accounting  for  that,  anyhow — so  the  people 
said, — but  then,  you  know,  what  the  peop-e  says  ii 
not  always  true. 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


437 


CHAPTER  XXII 


A  FKW  moments  sufficed  to  explain  matters  to 
Madam  Von  Wiegel,  and  Montague,  with  thought 
ful  delicacy,  detained  Bdlev  on  the  piazza.  Madam 
Von  Wiegel,  having  heard  ill  that  was  necessary  of 
what  had  passed,  tenderly  embraced  her  daughter, 
and  whispered}  "  I  knew  all  would  come  right  at 
last,"  then  went  herself  to  invite  the  gentlemen  to 
join  them  in  the  drawing-room. 

Fiankly  extending  her  hand  to  Montague  she 
said  in  a  voic^  faltering  with  emotion :  "  For  the 
first  time,  Edgar  Montague !  I  bid  you  welcome  ! — 
Son  of  Harry  Montague !  welcome  to  my  heart !" 
Major  Montague  took  the  offered  hand  and  bowed 
over  it,  then  raised  it  to  his  lips  with  filial  respect 
and  the  grace  that  accompanied  all  his  actions. 

"  Madam  Von  Wiegel,"  said  he,  "  you  know  not 
how  many  emotions  are  throbbing  in  my  heart  as 
you  thus  address  me.  Not  least  amongst  them  is 
the  awakened  remembrance  of  a  loved  though  per- 
haps erring  father,  for  I  am  not  ignorant,  my  dear 
madam  !  of  the  relations  in  which  you  once  stood  to 
each  other,  and  I  can  bear  willing  testimony  to  the 
lender  friendship,  the  profound  respect  with  which 
my  dear  father  regarded  you  to  his  last  hour.*' 

"  Upon  my  honor,  Montague,"  broke  in  Bellew, 


3'- '' 


■  ; 


1  *  ■ 

!'■•'■ 


Ms**; 


mi. 


mm 


428 


OI,D    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


"  it's  a  singular  coincidence  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
that  you  should  do  homage  to  the  daughter's  charms 
as  your  noble  father  did  to  the  mother's  !  I'm  de- 
lighted to  hear,  however,  that  '  the  course  of  true 
love*  is  beginning  '  to  run  smooth'  in  your  case,  con- 
trary to  the  saying  of  the  immortal  Williams  (as  the 
French  translator  called  the  Bard  of  Avon),  to  wit, 
that  said  course  never  does  run  smooth." 

"Were  you  not  an  interested  party,  Belle  w  I" 
returned  Montague  laughingly, "  I  shoyiild  thank  you 
very  sincerely — you  may  not  be  aware,  Madam  Von 
Wiegel !  that— shall  I  go  on,  Gerald  ?" 

"  A  pretty  question  truly,  when  you  have  said 
enough  already  to  excite  the  curiohity  of  a.iy  daugh- 
ter of  Eve!" 

"  Well  1  then,  madam,"  proceeded  Montague,  "  be 
it  known  to  you  that  Captain  Gerald  Bellew  here 
present  holds  the  promise  of  your  fair  niece,  Miss 
Eveleen  O'Donovan,  to  take  him  for  better,  for 
worse, — I  quote  his  own  words — on  condition 
that- 


n 


"  There  now  !'*  said  Gerald  laughing  merrily,  "  I 
knew  you  couldn't  get  through  it — allow  me  to 
finish  !  The  condition  alluded  to,  my  dear  madam, 
by  my  honorable  and  gallant  friend,  was  that  a 
proper  understanding  should  first  be  effected  be- 
tween— the  Doge  of  Venice,  there,  as  Robert  Mur 
ray  might  say,  and — the  Adriatic  yonder  !"•  point* 

*  I  presume  our  gay  captain  was  referring  just  then  to  the 
lymbolical  ceremoDj  which  annually  took  place  in  Venice 


'M 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


429 


tog  over  his  shoulder.  "  It  was  Miss  Eveleen'a 
pleasure  to  maintain  all  through  that — ahem !  that 
there  was  no  lave  lost  between  the  two — and  she  posi- 
tively declared  that  a  ring  should  never  be  put  ou 
her  finger,  by  me  at  least,  until  Edgar  and  Bertha 
were  ready  to  start  with  us  on  the  high  road  to  hap- 
piness." 

"And  how  do  you  know  we  are  so  now  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  it,  but  I  guess  it, — albeit  not  much 
given  to  guessing." 

"  My  dear  Captain  Bellew !"  said  Madam  Von 
Wiegel,  "  you  give  me  very  great  pleasure,  indeed  1 
I  am,  then,  to  consider  you  as  my  nephew  elect  ?" 
And  she  held  out  her  hand  which  Bellew  warmly 
shook. 

"  Undoubtedly,  madam  I  always  providing  inat 
Edgar  Montague  be  your  son-in-law  elect." 

Hearing  this,  Montague  changed  color,  and  was 
evidently  discomposed,  but  he  forced  a  smile  and 
said,  as  they  followed  Madam  Von  Wiegel  into  the 
drawing-room,  "  Really,  Gerald  !  your  good-nature 
outstrips  your  discretion.  I  must  beg  you  to  re- 
member that  I  am  principal  in  this  matter !" 

"  There  you  are,  my  Lord  High  Constable  !  or  wha 
■hall  I  call  him.  Miss  Von  Wiegel  ?"  ^  'ressiug  that 
young  lady  who  was  just  re-entering  the  drawing- 
room  after  giving  some  brief  orders  in  the  kitchen. 

during  her  reign  of  t  .osperity,  viz.,  the  dropping  of  a  ring  by 
Ihe  Doge  into  the  Adriatic  Soa— aUegoricaliy  considered  tho 
Bride  of  Vemce. 


f^;.. 


480 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


rt^ 


m:j'- 


I'? 


.«.*     »   r'         1 


i«  1-.. 


f^' 


"  Call  who  ?" 

"  Why,  Edgar  Montague,  to  be  sure  I" 

"  For  myself  I  cannot  say,"  Bertha  replied  with 
that  spiritual  archness  which  at  times  gave  ;  \ncy 
to  her  manner ;  "  I  have  heard  him  mentiojied  by 
divers  names  all  suggestive  of  high  mightiness." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Montague  with  his  calm  smile, 
"  I  know  ihere  are  some  hereabouts  who  hold  me  in 
extraordinary  h?gh  estimation — Lieutenant  Murray, 
to  wit !" 

"  But,  Bertha,  my  child !  I  have  news  for  you," 
said  her  mother;  "  would  you  believe  it  ?  I  have  just 
learned  that  Captain  Belle w  is  the  accepted  candi- 
date for  our  dear  Eveleen's  hand  ?" 

"Remember  the  condition,  madam!"  put  Bel 
lew  with  maWce  prepense. 

"  I  am  more  pleased  than  surprised  by  that  news, 
mother,"  said  Bertha  with  a  beaming  smile  j  "  1  have 
long  suspected  as  much." 

"  Perhaps  you  suspected  more,"  said  Bellew  with 
ely  emphasis,  "the  trifling  condition,  namely,  on 
which  Eveleen  gave  her  consent  to  assume  the  name 
and  arms  of  Bellew  ?" 

"  Condition  !"  repeated  Bertha  in  surprise,  "  wha 
condition  ?"  She  looked  at  Montague,  perhaps  un 
consciously. 

"  Shall  1  tell  her.  Madam  Von  Wiegel  ?"  asked 
Montague,  "  you  see  this  loquacious  friend  of  mine 
has  got  that  word  '  condition''  on  his  tongue,  and 
must,  tbrsootb!  thrust  it  into  everything!    It  is 


lite-?,?! 


TASTE   TERSUS   FASHIOK. 


4    1 


easily  seen  that  my  poor  Gerald  is  a  true  Celt,  and 
caijoot,  if  he  would,  keep  a  secret !" 

"  Nay,  that  is  hardly  fair,  major !  seeing  that  I 
have  kept  yours  so  long  and  faithfully  !'* 

Availing  himself  of  the  old  lady's  kindly  nod  of 
assent,  Montague  drew  Bertha's  arm  within  his,  and 
they  walked  out  again  on  the  piazza.  A  change  had 
come  over  the  fair  scene  since  they  saw  it  last,  short 
as  the  time  had  been.  Clouds  were  drifting  at  in- 
tervals over  the  blue  sky,  and  the  winds  were  aris- 
ing as  if  from  eleep.  shaking  the  branches  with  no 
gentle  motion,  and  scattering  their  leaves,  "  the 
summer's  pride,"  in  all  directions. 

"  Were  we  inclined  to  be  superstitious,"  said  Mon- 
tague, raising  his  eyes  to  the  dense  cloud  which  just 
then  obscured  the  queen  of  night,  "we  might  augur 
ill  from  so  sudden  a  change  in  the  face  of  nature  at 
this  critical  juncture  of  our  afiairs!  But  I  know 
you  are  as  little  influenced  by  such  idle  fears  as  I  am 
myself." 

"  But  only  think,  Edgar !  if  this  rough  weather 
should  continue — at  this  particular  time" — her  voice 
failed  her  and  she  stopped. 

"I  know  what  you  mean.  Bertha!  and  my  heart 
t4ianks  you  for  your  tender  foresight — but  /  have  nc 
fears — will  not  He  who  has  care  over  the  birds  of 
the  air  protect  my  life  and  our  dear  Gerald's,  even 
for  the  sake  of  those  who  deign  to  feel  interested 
in  our  welfare?" 

"  Why,  Edgar  I  you  speak  as  a  Ohristian  I" 


It 


.f,,   A. 


i 


i.<  ■*..  '?■■ 


:ii- 


t ;  t 


^  F  ■'■•■■ 


■■'V 


1',.  *  "t  ^ 


If^iv'-;; 


[■■|)'h 

n'.  I, 


^n- 


c_jril*?  1^ 


ft-  *' 


^32 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


Montague  smiled  and  went  on:  ''I  mast  not  de« 
tain  you  long  liere,  Bertha !  for  the  storm  seema 
rather  increasing " 

*'  It  is  not  cold,,  though,  and  I  love  to  look  abroad 
on  a  storray  lanrlscape,  when  the  winds  are  at  play, 
and  the  clouds  sweep  over  the  vault  of  heaven." 

"  Even  so  It  is  with  me,  Bertha ! — it  seems  as 
tnough  the  passionate  wailing  of  the  winds  and  the 
wild  commotion  of  the  elements  stir  up  the  latent 
energies  of  our  being,  and  raise  us  higher  in  the 
scale  of  creation.  At  such  times  we  are  brought, 
as  it  were,  face  to  face  with  the  Great  Spirit  of  tlie 
Universe  whose  voice  thunders  in  the  storm.  But," 
ne  added  in  a  softened  tone,  "  we  have  little  time 
to  spare  now  for  such  sweet  communings — a  time 
will  'jome,  I  fondly  hope,  when  our  lives  shall  flow 
on  together  towards  the  ocean  of  eternity — now  I 
meant  but  to  tell  you  of  the  *  condition'  to  which 
Gerald  had  reference."  He  told  her,  then  added  in 
a  trt^mulous  voice:  "What  think  you,  now.  Bertha! 
of  Gerald's  chance — and  mine .?" 

"  Before  I  answer  that  question,"  said  Bertha, 
*'  you  must  answer  another,  on  which,  after  all,  our 
fate  depends.  You  may  probably  remember  what 
I  once  told  you,  that  if  I  ever  had  a  husband  he 
must  be  a  Catholie.  In  the  days  of  our  isweetest 
intercourse — forgive  me,  Edgar !  if  I  was  wrong — 
I  fancied  that  your  mind  and  all  your  habits  cf 
thought  wero  essentially  Catholic — else  had  I 
never-- — '* 


*¥i';,'%-  ''?; 


f^'f! 


...  I 


'\STE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


439 


*'Kever  loved  me  i**  said  Montague  very,  v^ry 
loftly ;  "  v,'hy  should  you  hesitate  to  say  it  niw?'''' 

*'  Well ! — be  it  so — else  had  I  never  loved  you. 
Say,  Edgar !  did  my  heart  deceive  me  ? — was  I 
mistaken?" 

Siie  suddenly  turned  towards  him,  and  looked  up 
into  his  face  with  an  intensity  that  was  almost  pain- 
ful to  behold.  Edgar  Montague  smiled — oh !  how 
beautiful  his  smile  v/as  then — and  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Bertha's  pale  brow,  and  tenderly  smoothed 
down  the  dark  tresses  by  which  it  was  shaded,  and 
lie  said  in  his  calm,  full  voice:  "Bertha!  you  were 
not  mistaken !  I  have  had  the  happiness  of  being  a 
Catholic  for  the  last  two   yearn.  I  was  re- 

ceived into  the  Church  by  a  Spanish  priest  in  Ma- 
drid. Nay,  I  am  even  a  child  of  Mary  !"  And  he 
drew  from  his  bosom  the  brown  scapular  of  the 
Order  of  Mount  Cavmel.  "  Once  in  the  ruined  chapel 
of  St.  Bernard,  at  Mellifont,  when  you  spoke  to  me 
of  the  great  Cistercian's  love  for  Mary,  I  told  you 
that  if  I  had  Bernard's  faith,  I,  too,  would  be  a  ser- 
vant of  that  glorious  queen, 

"  Now  Heaven  be  praised !"  cried  Bertha  with  a 
burst  of  joyful  emotion  ;  "  now — now,  indeed,  shall 
we  be  united — for  eternity  !" 

"  But  you  forget.  Bertha!  that  time  is  before  eter- 
nity. Shall  we  not  be  united  here  first,  that  toge- 
ther we  may  win  our  way  to  the  mansions  of  eter- 


nal bliss? 
hope?" 


Tell   me,  dear    one  l    what   have   I   to 


1.' 


*  u 


■"i^"   i 


;*  -i^r  ,>•(< : 


:i*,l'r- 


434 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;     OR, 


B:m 


•i':*'' 


"  Hope  all  things !"  said  Bertha  with  a  blush  and 
a  Emile.  "  See !  the  clouds  are  dispersing,  and  the 
winds  subsiding — even  so,  Edgar  !  shall  the  st.orm«» 
of  life  pass  away  for  us — you  will  come  back — per 
haps  soon — from  that  Indian  land — and  then — this 
hand  shall  be  yours  as  this  V    .rt  is  now !" 

Montague  sighed,  smiled  sadly  H'  he  drew  Ber- 
tha's arm  within  his:  "The  chanc  j  of  war  are  a 
dim  uncertain  medium  through  which  ti>  look  for 
happiness.  Your  promise  is  much,  Bertha,  but  it  ij 
not  enough!  We  must  take  your  mother  into  our 
councils." 

"  I  was  goir.g  in  search  of  you,"  said  Madam  Von 
Wiegel,  meeting  them  at  the  door. 

"  And  I  was  beginning  to  fear,"  laughed  Gerald 
Bellew,  "  that  Master  Boreas,  blustering  railer  as  he 
is,  had  taken  you  both  bodily  on  his  wings  to  the 
polar  regions.     How  goes  our  suit,  Edgar  ?'* 

"  Reasonably  well — but  our  respective  claims  of 
happiness  are  still  far  distant.  That  is  precisely 
what  I  wished  to  speak  of  now  to  Madam  Von 
Wiegel."  Hearing  this  Bertha  retired  to  a  window 
at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  There  she  stood 
for  some  moments  apparently  intent  on  the  yet  change- 
ful aspect  of  the  heavens,  but  in  reality  trying  to  still 
the  wild  tumult  of  her  emotions,  and  preserve  at 
least  a  degree  of  outward  composure.  All  at  once  slia 
heard  Bellew's  clear,  ringing  laugh,  and  his  joyous 
"  Hurrah!  the  day  is  ours  !"  and  the  next  moment 
Montague's  voice  wbispercd  at  her  side,  as  be  took 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOK. 


435 


hsr  hand  to  lead  her  to  her  mother  :  "  Bertha!  your 
mother  consents " 

"Consents  to  what?"  she  asked  like  one  in  n 
dream. 

"  To  our  union — think  of  that,  Bertha ! — why,  how 
is  this  ? — you  are  pale — you  tremble !" 

*'  To  our  union,  Edgar  !  when !  how  ?"  she  gasped 
for  breath. 

•'*  Be  calm,  dearest !  or  I  shall  begin  to  fear  that 
you  do  not  love  me,  after  all — that  you  dread  taking 
the  irrevocable  vow  which  will  make  you  mine !" 

"Not  10 ve  you!"  she  repeated  with  a  strange 
smile, "  oh  no,  Edgar  Montague  1  you  could  not  fear 
that ! — but  the  thought  of  being  your  wife ! — mo- 
ther I"  she  had  now  reached  the  fauteuU  where  her 
mother  sat,  "  mother  !  what  has  Edgar  been  asking 
of  you !" 

"  My  consent  to  a  certain  life-contract  between 
you  two — that  is  all !"  said  the  old  lady  repressing 
a  sigh  at  the  same  time. 

"  With  the  proximate  result  of  another  between 
your  humble  servant,  and — you  know  who !"  said 
Bellew  with  overflowing  gaiety,  quoting  Bertha's 
own  words  on  a  former  occasion. 

*'  And  I  have  ventured  to  ask  for  a  further  exten- 
sion of  the  favor, ^*  said  Montague ;  "  my  dear  madam, 
will  you  tell  Bertha  how  far  I  have  presumed  on 
your  maternal  kindness  to  me  ?" 

"  M.ijor  Montague  has  been  trying  to  persuade 
me.  Bertha !"  said  the  old  lady  in  a  voice  that  trem* 


km!',. 


436 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;   OR, 


■i  *■'■ 


V.-J 


m 


>  (3'-  i 


5  Jj;'-  <■•,^i^T'■. . 


W¥--'' 


bled  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  keep  it  firm,  "  that— 
that  it  is  expedient  to  have  the  marriage  solemnized 
before  he  leaves  here.  He  says  he  cannot  bear  >j 
leave  you  again  without  the  security  of  the  mar- 
riage-tie. He  says,  as  your  husband,  he  can  brave 
every  danger,  and  steer  through  every  tempest, 
guided  by  the  star  of  hope." 

"  Do  you,  then,  fear  to  trust  my  love,  Edgar  ?" 
eaid  Bertha,  regarding  him  with  a  mournful  smile. 

"  Assuredly  not,  after  what  has  passed — but  I 
cannot  divest  myself  of  a  fear  that  my  evil  genius 
might  again  interpose  between  me  and  happiness." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  should  go  with  you  to 
India  ?"  she  added  in  a  low  troubled  voice. 

•*  Heaven  forbid  !"  cried  Montague  turning  pale, 
•'  the  very  love  that  fills  my  heart  would  prevent  me 
from  carrying  selfishness  so  far  as  to  take  you  from 
your  mother's  side  to  share  my  dangers  and  priva- 
tions on  the  burning  plains  of  Asia !  Nay,  dearest ! 
I  asked  not  that,  but  only  that  you  should  become 
my  wife  before  I  leave  New  York,  and  remain  with 
your  mother  until  I  return — if  return  I  ever  do  !" 

Bertha  shuddered,  "  Talk  not  so,  I  beseech  you, 
Edgar !  I  will  have  no  t/i  about  it.  Still,"  she 
added,  starting  from  the  ottoman  vvhereon  she  had 
thrown  herself  beside  her  mother,  and  looking  in  nis 
face  with  passionate  eagerness,  "  still — an  tf  cannot 
kill  you,  and  if  it  were  Heaven's  will  that  you  should 
fall — that  I  should  never  look  upon  your  face  again— 
I  would  be  vours  even  in  death — it  were  sometbmp 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


431 


to  bear  your  name, — Edgar  !  I  conseat — if  my  dear 
mother  is  willing." 

"  Heaven  bless  you,  my  dearest  child  !'*  said 
Madam  Von  Wiegel  in  a  choking  voice ;  "  I  desire 
only  your  happiness,  and  I  know — I  fee!  that  this 
union  will  secure  it.  It  may  be  as  well — better  on 
some  accounts — that  the  marriage  should  take  place 
before  Major  Montague's  departure  for  India,  and 
as  we  have  had  some  thoughts  of  selling  this  place 
to  a  near  relation  of  my  husband's—  a  Von  Wiegel, 
too — and  going  home  to  Castle  Mahon,  we  shall  lose 
no  time  in  carrying  out  that  intention,  so  that  you 
can  join  us  the  sooner  on  your  return  from  India." 

"  A  thousand  thanks,  my  dear  mada;u  !"  said  Mon- 
tague shaking  her  hand  warmly;  "that,  will,  indeed, 
expedite  our  meeting !" 

"  And  we  shall  all  be  together,"  said  Bo^rtha  look- 
ing archly  at  Bellew,  "  for  the  grand  affair  to  come 
off,  on  your  return,  at  Castle  Mahon,  when  dear 
Uncle  Gerald  will  give  Eveleen  away  at  the  altar, 
and  the  hearts  of  the  O'Donovan  tenantry  will  be 
made  glad  by  the  festivities  of  a  wedding — a  novel 
event  now-a-days  at  Castle  Mahon,  my  mother's  be- 
ing the  last  that  took  place  there." 

"  Heigho!"  sighed  Bellew  with  mock  gravity  but 
real  feeling,  "  Heaven  only  knows  when  that  will 
come  to  pass.  However,"  he  added  with  assumed 
gaiety,  "  next  to  my  own,  I  shall  be  best  pleased  to 
see  Edgar's.  Let  us  see — it  must  be  to-morrow,  you 
know  I"         -^-f       ,.    , 


;>•■'■ 


f- 


T  •>•■■  - 


[d^t.^' 


m 


438 


OLD   AKD    NEW  ;   OR, 


"  Supper  on  the  table,  ma-dam  !"  cried  Jan  at  the 
door,  and  Bellew  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant  to 
make  his  bow  to  Madam  Von  Wiegel,  leaviog  Bertha 
thereby  to  Montague.  As  they  descended  the  wide 
staircase,  Bellew  made  a  march  for  his  own  feet, 
humming  in  an  audible  voice,  to  Madam  Yon 
Wiegel's  great  amusement : 

"  Bow,  brothers,  row,  for  the  pride  of  the  Highlands, 
Honor'd  and  bless'd  be  the  ever-green  pine ! 
Boon  may  the  rose-bud  that  graces  yon  islands, 
Be  wreath'd  in  a  garland  around  him  to  twine !" 

"  I  say,  major !  couldn't  we  manage  to  slip  a  pme- 
tree  anywhere  into  the  Montague  arms  ?" 

"  I  fear  not,"  said  Montague  laughing,  "  the  pine 
is  not  indigenous  to  our  Jield.  But  why  this  herald- 
ric  conceit  now,  I  pray  you  ?" 

"  Why,  I  was  just  thinking  that  the  dark-browed 
chief  of  Clan- Alpine  might  possibly  have  been  a  re- 
mote progenitor,  and,  by-the-bye,  Edgar !  that  French 
name  of  yours  analyzed  does  savor  of  the  mountains 
— MorU-ague — steep  mountain — seriously  Edgar  ! 
did  you  ever  observe  that  ?" 

"  I  cannot  Si^y  I  did — many  thanks  for  your  infor- 
mation." 

They  had  now  reached  the  table,  and  conversation 
was  suspended  till  the  business  of  the  hour  was 
happily  commenced.    . 

When  the  little  party  returned  to  the  drawing' 
room  the  gentlemen  would  have  taken  their  leave, 
but  Bertha  whispered  a  request  that  Montaguo 


TASTE   VERSUS    FA8HI0X. 


439 


would  play  some  one  of  her  old  favorites  before  h« 
went.  She  handed  him  at  the  same  time  a  small 
flute  which  he  had  left  there  some  days  before. 

"  What  shall  I  play  ?"  he  asked,  but  without  wait- 
ing for  an  answer  he  commenced  "  True  Love  can 
ne'er  Forget."  Bertha's  eyes  filled  and  her  cheek 
flushed,  remembering  the  last  time  she  heard  that 
touching  strain. 

When  the  music  ceased  Madam  Von  Wiegel  ex- 
claimed :  "  Bertha !  that  was  the  third  air  I  heard  in 
that  pleasant  dream,  and  which  I  could  not  remem- 
ber. You  know  I  told  you  of  it  next  day — it  wa$ 
a  heart-soothing  strain." 

"  Something  akin  to  the  harmony  of  the  spheres- 
was  it  not,  mother?"  said  Bertha  smiling  through 
her  tears,  and  looking  archly  at  Montague.  "  Per- 
haps Edgar  could  enlighten  you  as  to  the  unseen 
musician — but  I  forgot — he  was  up  somewhere  in 
the  Hudson  Highlands  that  memorable  night — how 
was  that,  Edgar  ?'*  she  asked,  with  a  sudden  change 
from  gay  to  grave.  "  Were  you,  or  were  you  not 
in  our  vicinity  that  night  ?'* 

Montague  smiled.  "  Possibly  I  might  have  been— - 
m  a  fit  of  somnambulism.'* 

"But  I  thought  you  said  when  we  first  saw  yon 
here  that  you  had  been  for  the  two  weeks  previous 
ambling  through  the  Highlands?" 

"  Yes,  but  he  did  not  tell  you,"  said  Bellew,  be- 
ginning to  button  up,  "  that  we  had  arrived  in  town 
back   again  that  very  aflernoon.    There  is  strong 


p^  ■■  *, 


l!>^ 


,fV     .... 


U 


440 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


J0M 


presumptive  evidence  against  you,  Edgar !"  he  gaily 
added  nodding  at  his  friend,  "  you  had  better  let 
the  case  go  by  default,  and  us  by  rail." 

**  If  you  were  at  Castle  Mahon  to-night  you  would 
be  in  no  such  hurry,  my  good  fellow ! — Lead  on, 
however,!  follow — waiving  my  military  precedence !" 

"  Nay,  one  song  before  you  go !— it  may  be  the 
last  you  will  sing  for  us — here  at  least !"  whispered 
Bertha,  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

There  was  no  resisting,  no  thought  of  resisting 
that  pleading  voice,  and  making  a  sign  to  Bellew  to 
wait  a  few  moments,  Edgar  took  his  seat  at  the 
piano,  and,  running  his  finger  over  the  keys  with 
a  freedom  and  ease  that  showed  him  master  of  the 
instrument,  he  paused  a  moment,  then  began  in  a 
voice  so  rich,  full  and  harmonious,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  so  expressive  of  deep  feeling,  that  it  sank  into 
every  heart,  Mrs.  Hemans^  beautiful  Parting  Song, 
let  to  a  Eofl  Italian  air : 

"  When  will  you  think  of  me,  my  friends ! 
When  will  you  think  of  me  1 
When  the  last  red  light,  the  farewell  of  day, 
From  the  rock  and  the  rirer  is  passing  away, 
When  the  air  with  a  deepening  hush  is  fraught, 
And  the  heart  grows  burden'd  with  tender  thought, 

Then  let  it  be  1 

"  When  wiH  you  think  of  me,  kind  friends ! 
When  will  you  think  of  me  1 
When  the  rose  of  the  rich  midsumraer-time 
Is  ilird  with  the  hues  of  its  glorious  prime, 
When  ye  gather  its  bloom,  as  in  bright  houn 


TA8TK    VERSUS    FASHION. 


44i 


from  the  walks  whore  my  footateps  no  more  may  tread, 

Then  let  it  be  i 

"  When  will  ye  think  of  me,  sweet  friends  I 
When  will  ye  think  of  me  I 
When  the  sudden  tears  o'erflow  your  eye, 
At  the  sound  of  some  olden  melody, 
When  ye  bear  the  voice  of  a  mountain  stream, 
When  ye      =j1  the  charm  of  a  poet's  dream. 

Then  let  it  be!" 

"Tou  will  excuse  me  from  singing  the  last  stanza," 
said  Montague  rising,  "  you  know  its  purport.  Ber- 
tha !  and  how  far  it  is  from  being  adapted  to  my 
peculiar  circumstances.*  Assuredly,  it  is  not  well 
for  me  '  to  be  fled  and  gone.'  Good  night !"  And 
with  one  glance  at  Bertha's  drooping  face,  he  fol- 
lowed Belle vv  from  the  room  and  the  house,  with 
an  understanding  that  they  were  to  return  next 
morning  for  an  early  breakfast. 

The  arrangements  for  the  marriage  were  all  made 

within  half  an  hour  after  breakfast,  and  with  the  aid 

of  the  parish  priest,  a  dispensation  was  obtained, 

and  the  ceremony  took  place  the  same  evening  ia 

the  oratory  of  Rheinfeldt  House,  with  no  other  wit- 

♦  As  our  readers  may  not  know  it  as  well  as  Bertha,  they 
may  probab'y  wish  to  see  it.    It  is  as  follows : 

"  Thus  let  my  mem'ry  be  with  ye,  fr  endal 
Thus  ever  think  of  me  t 
Kindly  and  gently,  but  as  of  one, 
For  whom  it  is  well  to  be  fled  and  gone, 
As  of  a  bird  from  a  cage  unbound, 
As  of  a  wand'rer  whose  home  is  foond, 

Thus  let  it  be!" 


■.:'  «'■ 


il 


443 


OLD    AND    NEW  )    OR, 


y^^ 


It 


lit'  lU^i   '    * 


'.>iiA 


nesses  than  Mr.  Murray  and  Alice,  who  was,  of 
course,  bridesmaid,  Captain  Bellew  and  Madam  Von 
Wiegel,  with  Jan  and  Betty  in  the  distance. 

The  news  and  the  invitation  had  come  on  the 
Murrays  that  morning  like  a  thunderbolt.  It  was, 
indeed,  nothing  more  than  they  had  expected,  but 
now  when  expectation  was  becoming  certainty,  and 
poor  Robert's  chance  of  success  was  passing  away 
forever  their  hearts  were  weighed  down  with  a  sad- 
ness which  they  tried  in  vain  to  combat  by  thinking 
and  speaking  of  Bertha's  happiness.  Mr.  Murray 
Bpoke  his  mind  freely  to  Alice,  and  railed  at  Mon- 
tague to  his  heart's  content,  while  dressing  for  the 
great  occasion ;  but  Alice  did  not  open  her  mind  so 
freely  to  her  father — at  least,  I  fear  she  did  not. 
There  was  a  faint  drooping  of  the  eyelids  and  a 
touching  tremor  in  the  voice,  at  all  times  soft  and 
low,  that  would  have  struck  an  acute  observer;  but 
such  was  nc'  Mr.  Murray,  at  least  on  that  occasion, 
and  well  for  him  that  it  was  so. 

When  Alice  arrived  at  Rheinfeldt  House  early  in 
tho  afternoon,  her  greeting  to  Bertha  was  as  kind 
and  sisterly  as  usual,  and  a  smile  lit  up  her  sweet 
features  as  she  whispered  :  "  I  knew  you  were  made 
for  each  other — but  it  does  seem  so  strange !" 

"  You  will  not  think  so,  dear  Alice !  when  I  tell 
you  all — for  now — I  mear  when  they  are  gone" — 
Bertha's  voice  faltered — "  you  shall  know  all !" 

When  the  hour  appointed  came,  and  the  priest 
was  at  the  altar,  and  Mr.  Murray  in  waiting  to  givu 


TASTE    VERSUS   FASBIOK. 


443 


away  the  bride,  and  Madam  Von  Wicgel  with  a 
face  half  smiles  half  tears,  seated  in  her  large  chair 
drawn  up  near  the  altar  steps  at  one  side,  and  Jan 
and  Betty,  looking  very  happy,  seated  on  a  bench 
side  by  b'de  in  the  background  of  the  picture,  then 
Edgar  Montague  and  Bertha  Von  Wiegel  took 
their  places  in  front  of  the  little  altar,  with  its 
lights  and  flowers  surrounding  the  Cross  and  the 
Madonna,  and  Gerald  Bellew  beside  his  friend,  and 
Alice  Murray  close  to  Bertha,  it  was  a  sight  that 
would  have  rejoiced  a  painter's  eye. 

"  Yet  'Lis  not  in  the  blushing  bride,  all  be,\uteoa3  as  she  seems, 
Like  angel-forms  thro'  air  that   glide  to  bless  a  martyr's 

dreams, — 
Not  in  the  bridegroom's  stately  mien,  dark  eye  and  daring 

brow, 
The  sight  that  chains  mine  eye  w  seen,  and  fills  my  boeom 

now. 
Seest  thou  that  pale  yet  lovely  maid,  companion   of  the 

bride, 
In  robes  of  virgin- white  array'd,  and  kneeling  at  her  sidel 
Mark  her  dim  eye  and  bloodless  cheek— ah!  wherefore  doet 

thou  start  1 
Too  well  thou  know'st  that  both  bespeak  the  struggling  of 

•   the  heart! 
In  silence  and  in  solitude  a  fatal  flame  was  nurst, 
And  now  that  flime,  still  uosubdued,  thus  must  she  brave 

the  worst  I" 

When  the  ceremony  was  ended,  and  the  nuptial 
blessing  pronounced,  and  Edgar  Montague  clasped 
his  wife  in  a  first  embrace,  Alice  heard  his  impas- 
sioned whisper — "  Mine — for  ever  mine  !"  and  she 


Of 


U,M,. 


444 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


caught  the  glance  that  spoic©,  more  thai  the  words, 
the  treasured  love  of  years — the  gushing,  tremhling, 
exulting  joy  that  the  heart  feels  when  its  prize  is 
won,  and  its  hour  of  triumph  come  at  last.  Then 
as  Edgar  led  Bertha  to  her  mother,  and  smilingly 
8:iid,  "  il/>-5.  Montague P^  and  both  knelt  to  receive 
the  maternal  bleising,  Alice  Murray  shrank  tremb- 
ling back,  whispering  low  to  her  own  heart,  "Who 
could  think  so  much  love  was  hidden  beneath  that 
cold,  proud,  passionless  exterior  !  oh  Bertha,  happy, 
indeed,  is  your  lot ! — and  his  ! — may  the  future 
fulfil  the  bright  promise  of  the  present,  and 
your  lives  be  one  long,  long  dream  of  joy  !" 
"  I'm  glad  poor  Robert  is  not  here  I"  was  her  next 
thought,  as  her  anxious  look  turned  on  her  father's 
unusually  clouded  brow.  When  the  priest  and  all 
present,  not  excepting  Jan  and  Betty,  had  oflfered 
their  congratulations  to  the  bride  and  groom,  the 
company  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  Bertha 
and  Alice  retired  together.  During  the  half  hour 
which  they  spent  in  friendly  commune.  Bertha  saw, 
all  unknown  to  Alice,  far  deeper  into  the  poor  girl's 
heart  than  was  good  for  her  own  peace,  for  slie 
loved  Alice  as  a  younger  sister,  and  she  grieved  to 
see  the  "  silent  sorrow"  that  was  y  ^y^  g  on  her 
young  heart.     Neither  could  she  nsolatir^n, 

for  the  subject  was  one  to  whic  he  could  not 
pnidently  allude.  Her  diecovery,  paii.ful  ts  it  was 
to  her,  was  only  manifested  outwardly  by  an  increase 
oi  tenderness  in  her  tone  and  manner  when  address* 


TA8TK    VKKSUS    FASHIOK. 


445 


ing  her  young  friend.  But  it  placed  a  restraint  on 
her  natural  candor,  for  she  could  not,  or  would  not 
epeak  of  the  happiness  that  filled  her  own  heart,  tha 
joy  that  pervaded  her  entire  being, — certainly  not 
to  Alice  Murray,  dear  and  trusted  as  she  was ! 

Betty  had  called  in  some  assistance  that  day  of  a 
high  professional  character  in  the  culinary  line,  and 
by  ten  o'clock,  when  Jan,  after  taking  a  last  exulting 
look  at  the  table  he  had  been  setting,  went  to  the 
drawing-room  door  to  announce  supper,  it  was  no 
wonder  that  his  tone  was  more  magisterial  than 
usual,  for  the  table  his  genius  had  decorated  was  lit 
for  the  banquet  of  a  prince.  The  old  family  plat«, 
brought  by  the  first  American  Von  Wiegel  to  New 
Amsterdam,  and  still  the  wonder  of  garish,  frippery, 
electro-plated  New  York,  glittered  that  night  on  the 
Bupper-table  amid  fruit  and  flowers  and  flashing 
wines  whose  hues  were  as  varied  as  their  vintage, 
and  all  reflecting  the  flood  of  light  streaming  down 
from  the  massive,  many-branched  candelabra. 

It  was  a  time  and  a  scene  to  make  hearts  glad, 
and  hearts  were  glad,  for  no  sadness  could  with, 
stand  the  genial  influence  of  the  hour.  Montague, 
enlivened  by  the  sunshine  of  happiness,  appeared  in 
a  different  light  altogether ;  no  cloud  rested  on  his 
noble  brow,  no  cold  reserve  shrouded  the  brilliant 
qualities  of  his  mind,  or  the  exquisite  refinement  of 
his  feelings  and  sentiments.  Gerald  was  delighted 
to  see  him  talk  and  act  in  the  old  familiar  way,  and 
Mr.    Murray,    notwithstanding    his    prepossession 


:•'''■•'  t ' 


i.''.' 


i'l 


W-ik 


I 


;.,r  y. 


iwR  li^^BH^Bl 

VH>4 

^^■fe^E^^^Bi 

'l  . 

ijlHi^^K 

i*-: 

^^W^H: 

'  V^'^^;       I^^H 

i"'^9 

..'■I.'     '« 

^v 

n-'''\ 


?'■ , 


'i.  ' 


l!v':.: 


>;: 


r.'  *• 

.V'      .  ■ 


i 


446 


OLD    ^K'D    NEW  ;     OR, 


against  him,  could  not  resist  the  ineffable  charm 
that  hung  around  him.  Little  did  the  good  old 
man  suspect  that  every  look  and  every  word  of 
Montague's,  on  that  last  night,  were  treasured  all 
too  deeply  in  one  gentle  heart  whose  peace  was 
dearer  to  birn  than  his  own  life.  So  he  only 
thought  of  Robert,  and  often  that  evening  he 
murmured  to  hf.mself:  "Poor  Robert!  small,  in- 
deed, were  your  chances  against  him  !" 

Madam  Von  Wiegel  looked  and  'istened  with  a 
smile  now  bright  and  happy,  now  sad  and  tender,  on 
her  placid  countenance,  as  the  charm  of  the  present 
or  the  memory  of  the  past  filled  her  mind.  And 
Bertha — oh !  it  was  hard  to  say  ivhat  Bertha  felt,  as 
her  ear  drank  in  Edgar's  voice,  and  her  eyes,  often 
filled  with  tears,  ran  over  the  lineaments  of  that 
dear  face  that  was  soon  to  be  a  memory — a  cherished 
dream.  What  a  world  of  sad  yet  sweet  intelligence 
was  exchanged  in  their  glance  when  their  eyes  met, 
and  how  many  times  that  evening  did  the  dark  cold 
shade  of  the  morrow's  parting  fall  athwart  the 
brightness  of  the  present  moment.  Once  Edgar 
Montague  whisperedwhen  he  saw  the  tear  that  Ber- 
tha would  fain  have  hidden :  "  Even  so  it  is,  dearest, 

"  '  Life  is  made  up  of  miserable  hours ; 

Atid  all  of  which  we  craved  a  brief  possessing, 
For  which  v;e  wassted  wishes,  hopes  and  powers, 
Comes  wiih  some  fatal  drawback  on  the  blessing, 
We  might  have  Iweu  I'  "♦ 

*  MifisLanc^oD. 


TASTE    VERSUS    rASHION. 


441 


zence 
met, 
cold 
the 
dgar 
Bel- 
lies L 


*'  How  will  it  be  to-morrow,  Bertha !  when  wa 
tome  to  part,  '  it  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be 
for  ever  ?' " 

"  Nay,  when  that  moment  comes,"  said  Bertha 
proudly,  "  I  shall  not  forget  that  I  am  a  soldier's 


wire 


!" 


"  There  spoke  my  Bertha !"  whispered  Edgar 
again,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  exultation.  "  Gentle 
and  loving — high  and  noble,  such  did  my  fancy  paint 
you  in  tlie  dark  days  when  I  feared  you  were  lost  to 
me  forever!" 

And  Bertha  kept  her  word.  When  they  parted 
next  day  no  outward  sign  betrayed  the  mighty 
grief  that  swelled  her  heart.  Were  it  not  for  the 
deathly  palor  of  her  cheek  and  brow,  dnd  the  tre- 
mulous motion  of  her  bloodless  lip,  none  could  sus- 
pect the  wordless,  tearless  anguish  with  which  she 
returned  his  last  fond  greeting,  and  saw  him  leave 
her,  perhaps  forever,  almost  on  their  wedding-d&y. 


"V 


448 


OLD   AKD    NEW  ;   OB, 


CHAPTER  XXIIT. 


iW;  ;,£!:■■■■  , 


!ii» 


m&:''y 


MATTERS   IN    GENERAL. 

We  will  now  for  the  last  time  pay  our  respects  to 
the  Gallaghers,  Fogartys  and  FT  ^cketts.  The  failure 
of  the  Speculators'  Bank,  as,  perhaps,  the  shrewd 
reader  may  already  have  guessed,  turned  out  no  so 
V  ery  great  misfortune  after  all.  It  is  true,  the  family 
in  falling  from  their  high  estate,  had  fallen  to  a  cor- 
responding depth  in  the  minds  of  all  truly  fashion- 
able people,  but  that  was  only  natural,  for  when  did 
misfortune  or  humiliation  ever  retain  a  place  in  the 
mind  or  heart  of  fashion — supposing  it  to  have  those 
useful  appendages  of  humanity  ?  This  gave  Tom 
Gallagher  little  trouble,  for  Tom  had  (we  say  it 
under  the  rose)  but  a  sorry  opinion  of  '^  stylish 
people"  in  general,  and  was  an  incorrigible  heretic 
in  regard  to  the  doctrines  of  fashion.  The  truth  was 
that  he  seemed  to  feel  far  more  at  home  in  the 
country  cottage  than  he  ever  did  in  the  town  man- 
sion, and  were  it  anything  shovt  of  his  whole  fortune 
he  would  gladly  have  purchased  the  compawUive 
ease  and  freedom  he  now  enjoyed  with  regard  to  his 
wearing  apparel.  Good  Mrs.  Gallagher  and  even 
her  daughters  seemed  to  have  got  the  lucky  idea 
in  their  heads  that  nobody  noticed  poor  pa,  or  the 
cut  or  condition  of  his  ipper  or  lower  garments 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


449 


Since  that  oily  individual  Mr.  O'Blarney  of  the  Specu- 
lators' Bank  had  whisked  away  with  his  money.  I 
regret  to  say  that  the  ladies  were  not  quite  so  philo- 
sophical with  regard  to  themselves  and  they  struggled 
hard — in  fact  desperately — to  retain  a  foothold  some- 
where on  the  verge  of  fashionable  society,  whence 
they  might  catch  a  view,  however  distant,  of  the 
glittering  world  from  whose  golden  gates  they  were 
now  as  effectually  debarred  as  was  the  Peri  of  the 
Eastern  tale  what  time  she 
" at  the  gate 

Of  Eden  stood,  disconsolate; 

And  as  slie  listened  to  the  springs 
Of  life  within,  like  music  flowing, 

And  caught  the  light  upon  her  wings, 
Thro'  the  half-opened  portal  glowing, 

She  wept  to  think  her  recreant  race 

Should  e'er  have  lost  that  glorious  place  I" 

Mrs.  Frost  and  Mrs.  Winter  were  the  most  to  be 
pitied  of  all  the  family,  and  yet  somehow  they 
managed,  after  a  little  while,  to  carry  their  heads  as 
high  as  ever,  and  almost  make  people  forget  their 
Saratoga  matches,  made  "  in  evil  hour."  Mag,  es- 
pecially, throwing  shame  overboard  sailed  smoothly 
along  in  the  bark  of  confidence,  and  stared  the 
staring  world  out  of  countenance,  till  at  last  it  went 
on  its  way  and  left  her,  and  Ellie,  too,  in  peace — 
if  not  "  the  world  forgetting,"  at  least  by  "  the  world 
forgot."  It  was  a  fortunate  thing  for  both  sisters 
that  they  were  not  troubled,  either  of  them,  with 
any  painful  degree  of  sensibility,  and  although  theii 


V 


•«  ♦:■ 


■■v^ .  I 


)!!;*  1^ 


'' '.  ."l  ■  1*  ■ 


i 


I'l'-s'i-.  .  ! 


450 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OB, 


prospects  were  blighted,  ats  far  ns  matrimony  was 
concerned,  they  cared  comparatively  little  so  long 
as  they  could  keep  up  appearances  in  regard  to 
dress — minus,  however,  the  moire  aiitiques,  Avhich 
were  now  antique  remembrances  to  the  luckless 
Gsllagher  belles. 

Miss  Fanny  tried  hard  to  keep  up  the  prestige  of 
her  greatness,  when  the  greatness  itself  had  departed 
for  ever  and  aye,  but  somehow  she  didn't  succeed. 
Let  her  put  on  ever  such  airs,  she  couldn't  get  peo- 
ple to  look  up  to  her  as  they  used  to  do,  or  at  least 
appear  to  do,  when  she  was  prime  minister  in  the 
realm  of  No.  66,  and  ruled,  as  a  queen,  over  all  who 
crossed  the  threshold  of  that  spendid  mansion. 
Poor  Fanny  !  she  found,  to  her  cost,  that  lofty  airs 
don't  impress  people — but,  "  quite  the  con~tra-ry, 
which  is  remarkable" — as  Rory  O'More,  or  some- 
body like  him,  says — when  they  figure  in  a  two-story 
cottage  with  cane-bottomed  chairs,  and  all  such  vul- 
gar appurtenances.  ' 

The  worst  of  it  was  that,  what  with  the  unlucky 
Saratoga  matches,  and  the  still  more  unlucky  de- 
falcation of  Mr.  O'Blarney  and  the  Speculators' 
Bank,  together  wnth  another  little  reason  which, 
though  not  to  be  told  "  in  Gath,"  no,  nor  whispered 
'*  in  the  streets  of  Ascalon,"  must  needs  be  whis- 
pered in  the  reader's  ear,  viz. :  that  Miss  Fanny'fi 
mirror  no  longer  told  a  flattering  tale,  but  actually 
began  to  warn  her  that  if  ever  she  meant  to  annex 
any  oi  Adam's  male  descendaats  it  mu^t  be  douQ 


l^l^:lJi^,^>, 


:»»•'(' 

^M* 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


451 


without  loss  of  time,  for  alas  !  that  1  should  have  to 
write  it : 

"  She  look'd  in  the  glass,  and  she  thought  she  could  trace. 
A  sort  of  a  wfinkle,  or  two  !" 

But  do  you  think  Miss  Fanny  sat  down  under  the 

grief  of  this  alarming  physiognomical  discovery,  and 

began  to  sing  that  dolorous  ditty : 

"  Nobody  coming  to  marry  me, 
Nobody  coming  to  woo — 
Nobody  coming  to  marry  me, 
Oh  dear !  what  shall  I  do  1" 

N"ot  she,  indeed  ;  so  craven  a  thought  never  could 
or  never  did  enter  Into  Miss  Gallagher's  well-dressed 
head.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  annex 
somebody,  which  she  did  in  gallant  style,  and  who 
does  the  reader  think  she  annexed.  Why  who  but 
Atty  Garrell, — don't  laugh,  reader,  pray  don't !  for 
Atty  was  now  Tom  Gallagher's  partner,  and  his 
name  was  represented  by  the  two  letters  Co.  on  the 
newly-painted  sign  "  Gallagher  &  Co.,"  which  swayed 
to  the  breezes  that  found  their  way  through  Centre 
Market,  in  front  of  Tom's  still  well-furnished  stall. 
It  turned  out  in  Tom's  greatest  need  that  his  faithful 
friend  and  counsellor  had  a  couple  of  thousand  dollars 
of  well-earned  money  in  one  of  the  City  Savings' 
Banks,  which  money  cheerfully  and  indeed  beseech- 
ingly placed  at  Tom's  disposal  enabled  that  worthy 
man  to  weather  the  storm  successfully.  In  the  ful- 
ness of  his  gratitude  he  took  Atty  into  partnership, 
a  step  which  he  never  had  cause  to  regret,  nor  Fanny 


t  .>'; 


452 


OLD    AND    NEW  :    OR, 


a"*.  • ' 

1  t..." 


p.  J'' 


i(?<r- 


her  still  greater  condescension  in  the  matter  of  an- 
nexation, whether  Atty  found  the  conjugal  yoke 
too  heavy  for  his  spare  shoulders  is  quite  a  different 
thing,  and  beyond  our  power,  moreover,  to  declare, 
—so,  hoping  that  Mrs.  Arthur  Garrell  {vide  her 
nsiting  card)  did  not  rule  her  meek  yokefellow  witU 
a  rod  of  iron,  we  will  leave  them  in  the  snug  nest 
which  Fanny  was  just  the  dame  to  keep  in  excellent 
order,  in  all  its  tiny  parts. 

The  last  I  heard  of  the  family  was  that  one  of 
the  younger  daughters — Annie,  I  think — had  asked, 
and  obtained  from  Mrs.  Montague  the  situation  of 
seamstress  and  lady's  maid  when  the  family  left 
Rheinfeldt  House  for  Ireland  very  soon  after  the 
major's  departure.  Although  there  was  a  time  when 
the  Gallaghers  would  have  taken  the  offer  of  any 
such  engagement  as  a  very  great  insult,  those  dajs 
had,  perhaps,  happily  passed  away,  and  Annie  her- 
self, who  the  reader  will  remember  was  all  along  her 
father's  favorite — having  a  fair  share  of  good  sense, 
was  not  long  in  the  family  of  Mrs.  Montague, — who, 
knowing  the  history  of  the  Gallaghers,  took  a  special 
interest  in  the  really  prepossessing  girl — till  she  be- 
came both  better  and  wiser,  impressed  with  sounder 
and  more  judicious  views  of  things,  and  far  in 
advance  of  all  the  other  members  of  the  familv,  her 
fother  alone  excepted.  Before  she  had  been  muny 
months  an  inmate  of  Catjtle  Mahon — where  she  was 
given  in  charge  to  the  dignified  and  venerable  house- 
Keeper  and  never  consigned  to  the  servants'-hall— 


/.^»'i> 


TASTE    VERSUS    TASHION. 


453 


Annie  Gkillagber  wrote  in  one  of  her  letters  to  her 
sister  Eliza :  "  I  can  now  see,  dear  Eliza,  what  was 
the  grand  fault  with  us  all  in  the  days  of  our  short- 
lived prosperity — we  were  too  much  given  to  dis- 
play, and  straining  after  effect,  and  busied  ourselves  en- 
tirely about  dress  and  all  such  things,  to  tlie  exclu- 
sion of  matters  far  more  important — in  a  word,  I 
can  now  see  the  difference  that  exists  between  TasU 
and  Fashion — the  Old  and  the  New,  in  other  words 
the  quiet,  easy,  natural  life  of  those  to  whom  wealth 
and  position  are  not  new,  when  compared  with  the 
empty,  artificial,  make-believe  life  of  people  who  are, 
as  we  were  ourselves,  wholly  devoted  to  show.  Since 
I  came  to  live  with  dear  Mrs.  Montague  and  that 
sweet  old  lady,  her  mother,  I  have  learned  many, 
many  things  which  will,  I  hope,  be  useful  to  you  all 
if  I  live  to  return  amongst  you,  which  will  not  be 
for  some  time,  though,  as  I  am  too  happy  here  to 
wish  t9  leave  it  at  present.  Tell  father  I  went  my- 
self with  the  money  to  his  Aunt  Biddy,  but  there 
was  no  Aunt  Biddy  there  to  give  it  to — she  died  six 
months  before — so  1  gave  the  money  to  the  parish 
priest  to  have  Masses  said  for  her  soul,  and  I  gave  a 
pound  or  two  of  my  own  to  the  people  she  used  to 
lodge  with.  So  poor  Aunt  Biddy  is  gone  at  last. 
Heaven  rest  her  soul !" 

A  year  or  two  after  that,  the  youngest  of  the  Miss 
Gallagher's,  Janie  by  name,  was  chosen  for  a  help, 
mate  by  Willy  Fogarty,  so  that  the  alliance  between 
the  families  was  strengthened  by  a  double  bond,  and, 


M. 


iff     if.-'is 


HA 


m^. 


1 

I 

wa 

Sp-i' 

W^ 

jf^M^': 

i 

«jfe 


454 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


£  believe,  this  second  union  turned  out  no  worse 
than  the  first,  but  rather  a  shade  better,  owinpf,  per- 
haps, to  the  salutary  depression  of  the  family  ther- 
mometer. So,  with  their  daughters  thus  variously 
disposed  of,  Tom  Gallagher  and  his  thrifty  spouse 
went  jogging  along  their  remaining  path  of  life  con- 
tentedly enough,  considering  all  that  had  come  and 
gone — the  stall  in  Centre  Market  kept  up  its  first- 
class  reputation,  and  the  cottage  by  the  Third  ave- 
nue gradually  assumed  a  more  tasteful  and  attractive 
appearance,  pretty  without,  neat  within,  and  as  hos- 
pitable a  house  for  the  size  of  it  as  ever  was  seen 
about  New  York — so  said  all  comers,  or  goers 
rather,  and  of  course  they  were  the  best  judges.  If 
I  thought  it  would  never  reach  Mrs.  Gallagher's 
ears,  I  would  tell  the  reader  in  confidence  what  Tom 
used  to  say  when  he  sat  by  moonlight,  or  gaslight, 
"the  centre  of  the  ring" — a  smoky  ring,  too,  it 
was — composed  of  Atty — I  beg  Mrs.  GarreU's  par- 
don— Arthur  Garrell — though,  by  the  way,  with 
Tom  he  was  still  "  Atty"  and  nothing  else — William 
H.  Fogarty,  John  McConoghy,  now  the  father  of  a 
couple  of  promising  juveniles — Henry  Hackett  and 
Samuel  C,  his  favorite  son-in-law*- — "  I'll  tell  you  what 
it  is,"  Tom  would  say,  glancing  around  to  see  that 
Ellen  was  not  within  earshot,  "  1*11  tell  you  what  it 
is — that  villain  O'Blarney  done  me  the  best  turn 
that  ever  one  man  done  another — small  thanks  to 
him,  though,  but,  I  declare  I  never  knew  what  peace 
was  till  himself  and  the  Old  Boy  flew  away  with  my 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


455 


money !  Now  that's  God's  truth,  whether  you  be- 
lieve it  or  not !"  They  did  believe  it,  and,  what  ia 
more,  they  had  all  suspected  as  much  before. 

The  Fogartys  were  still,  as  their  neighbors  said, 
"  at  the  top  of  the  wheel,"  in  worldly  prosperity. 
They  were,  indeed,  one  of  those  highly-favored  fami- 
lies with  whom  everything  they  undertake  seems  to 
succeed, — and  that  through  all  their  branches. 
Every  one  who  knows  anything  of  the  current  affairs 
of  the  world  around,  must  have  observed  at  least 
one  such  family  within  the  circle  of  their  acquaint- 
ance. The  fact  is,  the  Fogartys  were,  in  every  sense 
of  the  word,  a  well-doing  family;  they  had  all  just 
enough  of  ambition  to  urge  them  to  laudable  exer- 
tion, with  a  corresponding  degree  of  self-respect 
that  made  them  value  independence,  and  kept  them 
from  stooping  to  mean  actions.  They  all  inherited, 
moreover,  from  their  father,  and  in  a  lesser  degree 
from  their  mother,  a  certain  shrewdness  and  good 
Beose  that  contributed  largely  to  their  success  in  life, 
and  kept  them  from  exposing  themselves  to  ridicule 
by  any  sort  of  exaggeration,  or  arrogant  assumption 
of  superiority  over  their  own  equals.  They  were, 
consequently,  beloved  and  respected,  for  people  are 
always  willing  to  recognize  merit  in  those  who  do 
not  thrust  themselves  offensively  forward,  or  demand 
deference  as  a  right.  As  citizens,  William  H.  Fo- 
garty  and  his  sons — as  they  successively  took  their 
place  on  the  stage  of  life, — were  public-spirited,  and 
ever  willing  to  go  into  any  movement  having  the 


•';:  W' 


\f::&. ' 


T.rr 


'iy- 


"  fete 


4aU 


OLD    A  VD    NEW  ;    OR, 


good  of  the  people  in  view :  whilst  as  Christians, 
they  were  useful  and  active  members  of  the  congre- 
gation to  which  they  belonged,  with  free  hearts  and 
open  hands  where  public  or  private  charity  was  in 
question.  Then  they  were  all,  as  might  be  expected, 
united  amongst  themselves  by  the  tenderest  bonds 
of  affection,  and  it  so  happened  that  those  who  mar- 
ried into  the  family  all  fell  into  their*  ways,  some 
more,  some  less,  and  caught  the  benign  influence  of 
their  public  and  private  virtues.  They  were  a  happy 
and  a  prosperous  family,  the  Fogartys,  as  they  well 
deserved  to  be,  and  we  can  have  little  doubt  that 
when  human  affliction  came  upon  them,  as  come  it 
must  to  all  the  children  of  Adam — they  bore  it  as 
Christians  calmly  and  submissively,  as  coming  from 
the  hand  of  God,  and  in  accordance  with  the  solemn 
decree  pronounced  at  the  beginning  of  the  world. 

And  now  for  Henry  Hackett  and  his  family,  of 
whom  our  old-young  favorite  Michael,  and  the  two 
younger  sisters,  remain  to  be  accounted  for. 

Things  had  gone  well,  I  am  proud  to  say,  with 
the  Hacketts,  also,  during  the  two  or  three  years 
before  we  return  to  take  a  parting  look  at  them. 
Ilackett's  had  come  to  be  the  best  general  grocery 
in  that  part  of  the  ward,  and  there  were  now  some 
three  or  four  young  men  waiting  on  the  customers; 
amongst  them,  however,  you  would  look  in  vain  for 
Michael,  for  Michael  having  made  considerable  pro- 
gress in  his  classical  studies  under  the  kind  favor  of 
the  Von  Wiegels,  had,  subsequently  through  their 


m 


ijS^v 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


4A 


Influence,  obtained  admission  to  one  of  out  Ecclesi 
Bstical  Seminaries,  where  he  was  preparing  for  IIolv 
Orders,  and  those  who  knew  Michael  Hackett's 
solid  worth,  and  were  able  to  appreciate  his  mental 
endowments,  had  high  hopes  of  his  future  usefulness 
in  the  great  work  of  the  ministry.  Those  who  meet 
him  in  after  years  in  the  venerated  garb  of  the 
priesthood, will  harrlly  recognize  him  as  the  Michael 
Hackett  of  our  earlier  pages,  for  the  precocious  gra- 
vity of  his  demeanor,  and  his  rather  oldish  little 
face,  are  now  merged  in  the  calm,  collected  mien, 
and  the  still  thin  but  well-formed  and  highly-intel- 
lectual features  of  an  earnest  and  devoted  minister 
of  the  Gospel,  a  priest  of  the  Most  High,  fully  con- 
scious of  His  high  prerogative,  and  prepared  faith- 
fully to  discharge  its  sacred  duties.  Yes.  Michael 
Hackett  has  more  than  realized  even  his  father's 
expectations. 

By  the  time  Michael  left  College  with  the  honorable 
prefix  of  Reverend  to  his  name.  Miss  Ann  -Wilhelmina 
had  obtained  an  advantageous  settlement  for  life,  on 
condition  of  promising  obedience  to  a  certain  con- 
tractor in  good  circumstances — a  widower  with  one 
little  girl  of  six  for  all  encumbrance — and  Ann 
would  have  thought  the  match  in  all  respects  desira- 
ble,  had  it  not  been  for  one  unlucky  fact — her 
spouse's  name  was  McGurl:,  with  the  no  less  odious 
prefix  of  Peter — "Peter  McGurk!  Good  Lord! 
what  a  name!'*  poor  Ann -Wilhelmina  used  to  ex- 
claim, with  tears  in  her  eyes.    But  thnt  was  only  al 


•■   I? 
...  k 


■  } 


4 . 


■a- 

I 

,1.- 


I" 
II, 


.58 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;     OR, 


M 

J  .'i' ,  ',.■  ,V'      . 
I'J'-,  if.';).  ^  i 


:..!/.,.. 


''t!.'\7'i'4>'' 


first.  After  a  few  months  the  vulgarity  of  the  nara« 
'Viis  eoon  forgotten  in  the  delightful  whirl  of  th^ 
•  iM.^r;iii<)n  known  as  "  cutting  a  dash,"  for  it  so  hap- 
itfiied  that  Pef.er's  mind  was  far  more  vulgar  than 
liis  name,  and  finding  himself  by  a  few  years  of  extra 
''good  luck"  in  possession  of  more  money  than  he 
ever  expected  to  have  called  his  own,  he  thought  he 
could  make  no  better  use  of  it  than  to  "cut  a  dash," 
and  his  wife  being  of  the  same  mind,  they  both  went 
to  work  with  energy  and  determination  cutting 
their  dash  right  and  left,  in  which  profitable  and 
honorable  occupation  we  shall  leave  them,  unable  to 
say  how  long  it  continued,  from  the  simple  fact  that 
we  never  had  an  opportunity  o*  sounding  the  depth 
of  Poter  McGurk's  purse  which  was,  of  course,  the 
measure  of  Peter  McGurk's  dash. 

It  was  not  with  Henry  Hackett's  good  will,  the 
reader  may  believe,  that  his  burly  new  son-in-law 
whirled  Ann-Wilheimina  into  the  vortex  of  fashion 
and  fashionable  expense,  but  it  was  Peter  McGurk's 
maxim  that  the  man  that  made  money  knew  best 
how  to  spend  it,  in  which  sage  opinion  be  was  con- 
firmed and  supported  by  his  bosom-friend  and  coun- 
sellor, Mrs.  Ann-Wilhelmina  McGurk.  Both  enter- 
tained a  thorough  contempt  for  Henry*s  judgment, 
and  made  no  scruple  of  telling  their  private  friends 
confidentially  that  he  was  little  better  than  a  fool,  or, 
at  least,  a  fogie  of  the  oldest  description. 

So  Henry  Hackett  was  fain  to  let  them  "  run  theii 
rig/'  and  see  how  far  it  would  carry  them.     His  own 


TASTK    VFRSU9    FASHION. 


4b9 


busIneBf  was  flourishing  to  his  heart's  content — hifi 
health  was  good  and  his  peace  of  mind  ruflled 
by  but  one  ripple — tliat  ripple  his  daughter  Ann'a 
perverse  folly.  His  youngest  daughter,  now  plain 
Mary,  was  entirely  devoted  to  him,  and  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Sarah  and  her  husband,  made  it  her  study 
to  promote  his  comfort  and  happiness.  Indeed 
Mary  had  been  knov/n  to  declare  solemnly  that  she 
never  would  leave  her  father  as  long  as  God  spared 
him  to  her ;  now  that  he  had  but  her,  she'd  see  if 
she  couldn't  make  up  to  him  for  the  loss  of  all  the 
rest.  But  what  would  she  do,  people  used  to  ask, 
when  her  father  was  taken  from  her — why,  then, 
she  would  go  and  keep  house,  for  Michael.  Henry, 
hearing  of  this  affectionate  resolution  of  Mary's,  was 
in  the  habit  of  saying,  in  her  absence,  though,  that 
Mary  wouldn't  be  a  burden  to  any  one  when  he  was 
gone,  for,  he  thanked  God,  he'd  be  able  to  leave  her 
what  would  keep  her  independent  all  her  days,  and 
then  she'd  be  sure  to  have  plenty  of  friends  and  a 
choice  of  homes  every  day  of  her  life. 

Our  readers  must  not  suppose  that  I  am  losing 
sight  of  the  Murrays.  They  are  almost  the  last 
whom  I  would  willingly  overlook,  and  if  I  have  not 
lacceeded  in  interesting  the  reader  in  that  amiable 
family,  I  have  only  to  say  that  I  am  sorry  for  It.  It 
was  a  sad  parting  all  round  when  the  Von  Wiegels 
and  the  Murrays  came  to  part,  after  years  of  kindly, 
genial,  and  almost  uninterrupted  intercourse.  Their 
life   had   been  so  much  together  that  they  could 


::.fv(. 


mm. 


;'-i 


■'■'^a 


460 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR 


scarcely  realize  living  apart.  This  feeling  was  com 
inon  to  father  and  daughter,  and  they  both  missed 
the  y  on  Wiegels  quite  as  much  as  if  they  had  formed 
the  same  family.  Their  social  intercourse  had  been 
of  the  most  agreeable  nature,  and  even  in  their  cha 
rities  they  were  more  or  less  associated.  For  long 
after  Rheinfeldt  House  had  passed  into  <:he  hands  of 
another  branch  of  the  Von  Wiegels,  a  settled  gloom 
appeared  to  have  fallen  on  the  household  of  Mr. 
Murray,  and  the  old  gentleman  was  so  troubled 
himself  that  he  was  not  surprised  to  see  Alice  sad 
and  dejected,  fading  away,  as  it  were,  in  loneliness. 
He  very  naturally  supposed,  too,  that  she,  like  him- 
self, mourned  for  Robert's  disappointment  as  well  as 
their  own  loss.  Nothing,  therefore,  could  be  more 
natural,  or  more  easily  accounted  for.  There  were 
extra  demands  on  Alice's  time,  moreover,  which 
kept  her  more  than  usual  out  of  her  father's  sight. 
Neither  did  Mr.  Murray  object  to  this,  for  he  knew 
that  Bertha  had  left  her  old  pensioners  in  Alice's 
care  with  a  couple  of  hundred  dollars  as  a  re- 
serve fund  for  their  use.  So  that  this,  with  the 
care  of  her  own  poor,  and  her  light  but  con- 
stant duties  as  housekeeper  in  their  small  menage 
were,  he  thought,  quite  sufticient  to  account  for 
anything  unusual  in  that  way.  Time  rolled  on, 
however,  and  just  six  months  after  Madam  Von 
Wiegel  and  her  daughter  left  New  York,  a  letter 
came  from  Robert  with  the  astounding  intelligence 
that  he  had  married  the  young  and  beautiful  daugh> 


«<■ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOX. 


461 


ter  of  a  wealthy  Southern  planter,  who,  if  inferior 
to  Bertha  in  many  respects,  had,  as  Robert  said  or 
wrote,  rather,  the  very  great  merit  of  being  vt  y 
much  in  love  with  him,  and  from  what  he  had  seen 
of  her,  even  in  her  paternal  home,  was,  moreover, 
gentle  and  amiable,  ^md  liicely  to  make  him  a  very 
dear  good  little  wife.  Of  course,  added  Robert,  my 
Stella  is  not  Bertha — nobody  ever  was  or  can  be 
like  Bertha  ("poor  fellow!  poor  Robert!"  sighed 
the  father  and  sister,  "  he  may  find  Stella  to  suit 
him  better !")  but  then — she  loves  me — I  know  she 
does — and  I  am  sure  I  am  trying  hard  to  love  /ier— 
BO  I  dare  say  we  shall  be  a  very  happy  couple — by 
and  by.  Stella  knows  you  both  already,  you  can't 
think  how  well,  and  she  wishf  j  of  aH  things  to  see 
you,  here  or  there,  she  don't  care  which — though  I 
rather  think  she  would  give  there  the  preference 
naving  never  seen  our  great  Gotham.  You  will  be 
glad  to  hear — though  I  flatter  myself  you  would 
htv.e  g  lessed  it  had  I  not  told  you — that  Stella  is  a 
good  Catholic  of  French  descent — an  old  Vendeaa 
i'jviruly — connected  by  blood  with  the  great  Laroche- 
jacquelin,  the  hero  of  La  Vendee!  In  luck,  again! 
I  hear  you  say — Stella  ought  to  be  good — and  so 
nhe  is,  mon  tres  cher  pere,  ei  ma  be/'e  et  chere  Alice, 
Stella  is  good,  as  good  as  she  is  pretty,  and  when 
you  see  her  you  will  understand  what  that  means. 


1 


w^- 


i4 


P.  S. — Have  you  heard  lately  from — from  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  ?    Has  hie  Excellency  returned  frotn 


•r 

i 


fn. 


'U 


462 


OLD    AND    NKW  ;    OR, 


India  yet  ?  Though  T  scarcely  think  he  has — of 
will  for  months  to  come.  God  grant  he  may  return 
safe — for  the  sake  of  one  whom  I  Hhall  not  nam**,. 
It  were  hard,  indeed,  if  he  fell  now — in  the  prime  ^ 
hia  noble  manhood — and  far  away  from  her — hjA 
bride  1" 

"  Poor  Robert !"  sighed  the  father  again,  and  the 
sister  echoed  the  sigh,  but  there  was  a  deep  sorrow  in 
ber  sigh,  and  a  palor  on  her  fair  brow  that  her  father 
happily  for  himself  did  not  notice.  Sweet  Alice 
what  a  thrill  of  emotion  did  those  last  words  of 
Robert's  awake  in  your  gentle  heart — how  deep  the 
chord  they  struck  there — how  low  and  mournful 
the  tone  that  vibrated  through  her  heart-strings  I 

But  Alice  Murray  was  a  Christian  in  the  tru 
sense  of  the  word,  and  loving  and  gentle  as  she 
was,  she  knew  how  to  fight,  ay  !  and  to  conquer 
the  feelings  of  her  heart  when  they  came  be 
tween  her  and  "  that  peace  which  surpasseth  all  un- 
derstanding"— the  peace  of  a  pure  heart  and  a  self- 
denying  spirit.  Alice  Murray  was  no  lack-adaisical, 
sentimental  damsel,  pro'^d  to  pine  away  in  hopeless 
love,  "  sighing  like  furnace"  liA  day  long,  and  by 
uigut  coiifidiug  her  miseries  to  the  moon,  for  want 
of  other  auditors — no !  our  sweet  Alice  was  a  Chris- 
tian maiden,  strong  in  her  sense  of  right,  and  brave  to 
resist  temptation.  And  she  dirl  resist  it,  nobly  and 
successfully,  by  the  practice  of  prayer  and  other 
good  works,  and  before  Bertha  and  Montague  met 
again,  she  had  learned  to  rejoice  in  the  prospect  of 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


46S 


tbelr  re-UDion,  and  pray  fervently,  sincerely  for  theif 
happiness.     Some  modern  lyrist  has  sung 

'•  Who  can  school  the  heart's  affections  V 

But  I  answer  fearlessly,  the  Christian  can — the 
Catholic  Christian — by  the  aid  of  supernatural  graco 
and  strength  IVom  above.  No  passion  so  strong) 
no  feeling  so  potent  but  what  may  be  overcome,  by 
the  power  of  prayer  and  the  graces  obtained  through 
the  Sacraments.  And  so  it  was  with  Alice  Murray, 
and  a  blessing  seemed  visibly  to  rest  on  her  heroic 
efforts,  for  her  health  improved  so  rapidly  that  her 
delighted  father  could  scarcely  believe  the  evidence 
of  his  senses,  and  it  was  not  till  the  old  family 
doctor — a  valued  friend,  too — assured  him  on  his 
professional  honor  that  the  alarming  symptoms  had 
actually  disappeared,  that  the  old  gentleman  could 
be  at  all  convinced  of  the  decided  and  permanent 
improvement  which  had  taken  place.  Once  tho- 
roughly convinced,  however,  his  heart  was  so  inun- 
dated with  joy  that  the  sunshine  of  his  spirit  came 
back  in  all  its  former  brightness — superinduced, 
however,  by  the  unexpected  good  news  of  Robert's 
nappy  marriage,  and  Alice  had  the  additional  con- 
eolation  of  seeing  her  beloved  father  as  blithe  and 
merry  as  ever  of  old.  This,  in  itself,  would  have 
been  a  sufficient  reward  for  her  heroic  and  success- 
ful struggle  with  her  own  heart. 

Let  us  now  go  back  for  a  few  brief  moments  to 
the  day  following   Bertha's  marriage.     Early  thai 


::i 


I: 


M 


p-^^' 


464 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OB 


'v  .  ■  i: 


■-■<  ■'  .'■ 
'  • ->•  ■■  fi 


I  i  ■;■■♦>',;•    ■" 


forenoon  a  lady  of  rare  and  most  voluptuous  bcautj 
— the  beauty  of  mature  womanhood,  entirely  Soiuh- 
ern  in  its  character — lay  on  a  sofa  in  a  private  par- 
lor in  the  Astor  House,  her  face  buried  in  the  cusli 
ions  over  which  her  dark  curls  lay  in  rich  but  wild 
profusion.  A  daily  paper  lay  on  her  knee,  and  her 
jewelled  finger  still  rested  on  the  paragraph  that  had 
probably  opened  the  flood-gates  of  her  heart  to  this 
burst  of  passi<mate  emotion.  Raising  her  head  at 
last,  she  shook  back  her  glossy  raven  curls,  and  dash- 
ing away  the  tears  that  trembled  on  her  long  Circas- 
sian-like lashes,  she  looked  again  at  the  paper,  and 
read  in  a  voice  broken  with  sobs:  "Married  at 
Rheinfeldt  House,  in  this  city,  yesterday,  June  — , 

by  the  liev.  Mr. ,  pastor  of  St. Catholic 

Church,  Edgar  Oswald  Montague,  Esq.,  second  son 
of  the  late,  and  brother  of  the  present  Lord  Vis- 
count Dunmore,  of  Dunmore  Castle,  Co.  Cork,  Ire- 
land, Major  in  Her  Britannic  Majesty's  — th  regi- 
ment of  foot,  to  Bertha,  only  daughter  of  the  late 
Jacob  Von  Wiegel,  Esq.,  of  this  city." 

"  It  is  even  so,  then,"  murmured  the  proud  beauty, 
as  the  paper  fell  from  her  hands  and  she  sank  again 
on  the  sofa,  with  a  iace  of  ashy  whiteness  and  a 
Btrange,  ghastly  smile  parting  her  blanched  lips. 
"  They  are  married — she  is  his  wife — he  has  taken 
her  to  his  bosom — and  I  am  undone  ! — oh  wretched, 
wretched  hour!  Despised — shunned — and  by  him-^ 
baffled — disappointed — with  every  hope  blighted* 
and  the  fire  of  an  unquenchable  passion  burning  uu 


■mm, 


TASTE    VERSt/S    FASHION. 


46d 


my  heart — what  is  to  become  of  me  ? — how  am  I  to 
live  ? — oh  Edgar,"  she  sobbed,  wringing  her  hands 
in  tearless  agony,  "you  cannot  know  how  I  lovo 
you,  or  you  would  pity,  instead  of  hating  me,  as 
now  you  do !  And  she  whom  you  have  taken  to 
the  Iieaven  of  your  heart — can  she  love  you  as  I  did — 
alas  !  as  I  still  do  ?  Oh  no  !  no  !  no  !  she  cannot — 
she  will  love  by  rule — within  the  bounds  of  re- 
ligion," her  lip  curled  in  disdain — "  but  mrj  love 
knows  no  bounds — it  is  an  ocean  measureless  and 
vast ! — and  yet  you  cast  me  from  you  as  a  worthless 
thing — not  even  the  common  civility  of  a  visit  for 
me,  though  his  proud  heart  knew  I  had  traversed 
sea  and  land  to  meet  him  once  again  !  Oh  misery ! 
there  is  the  cracked  voice  of  my  tormentor  at  tl»e 
door  !" — and  snatching  up  the  paper,  she  darted 
from  the  room  by  an  opposite  door,  nor  stopped  till 
she  h-^d  locked  herself  in  her  dressing-room.  We 
need  haidly  say  that  the  mourner  was  Lady  Susan. 
*'  Dear  me  !"  said  Sir  Henry  Burke,  entering  on 
tip-toe,  and  looking  around  inquiringly,  "  dear  me ! 
I  thought  her  ladyship  had  been  here !"  He  re- 
treated again,  and  was  soon  knocking,  or  rather 
tapping  at  the  dressing-room  door.  It  was  long  be- 
fore he  could  gain  admission,  and  when  he  did,  he 
wan  easily  diverted  from  the  contemplation  of  Lady 
Susan's  evident  discomposure,  by  the  rather  snap- 
pish announcement  that  she  had  been  taking  a  nap, 
and  wislied  she  could  have  taken  it  undisturbed. 
Sir  Henry  humV  y  apologized  for  Ms  untime^v  intra 


■f 


I; 


466 


OLD    AND    NEW  ; 


OR, 


.1 


/v'f.  ■  >'.- 


^i 


■a< 


i' 


sion,  "  but  I  had  something  so  strange  to  tell  you,* 
said  he,  "  that  I  couldn*t  possibly  wait.  Do  you 
know,  Lady  Susan  !  what  I  saw  in  the  papers  this 
morning  ? — why,  the  marriage  of  Major  Montague 
and  Miss  Von  Wiegel — your  ladyship's  old  friends — 
were  they  not  ?  Did  you  see  the  account  ?  There 
it  is  !"  pointing  to  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

"Thank  you!"  said  Lady  Susan  coldly,  putting 
the  paper  aside  with  her  hand,  "  I  saw  it.  Do  you 
suppose  /  take  any  interest  in  the  affairs  of  either 
one  or  the  other  of  those  you  have  mentioned — if  I 
had  done  so,  I  should  certainly  have  seen  them  bo- 
fore  now !  You  would  do  me  a  favor,  Sir  Henry  ! 
not  to  disturb  me  again  when  you  have  reason  to 
think  me  asleep,  whether  Births,  Deaths,  or  Mar- 
riages attract  your  attention  in  the  papers — won- 
der as  you  will,  but  let  me — rest  in  peace !"  she 
added  in  an  under  tone.  "  Sir  Henry !"  raising  her 
voice  to  reach  his  dulled  ear,  "  we  shall  go  this 
afternoon  to  West  Point  and  some  of  those  other 
places  on  the  Hudson !  You  will  order  a  carriage 
*br  one  /'* 

"  Certainly,  Lady  Susan,  certainly !"  and  Sir  Henry 
withdrew,  well  pleased  with  his  commission,  foj 
hitherto  he  had  been  trying  in  vain  to  urge  Lady 
Susan  to  visit  "  the  Lions*'  of  the  Empire  City, 
chiefest  of  which  is  its  beautiful  river  with  the  old 
historic  scenes  that  gird  its  margin. 

Left  to  herself  Lady  Susan  sank  again  into  her 
wild  and  troubled  reverie,  now  flinging  herself  on  a 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


461 


iofa,  now  starting  to  her  feet  and  pacing  the  room 
lu  strong  agitation,  muttering  strangely  to  herself 
in  fits  and  starts.  At  last  she  composed  herself  in 
Bome  degree  with  the  promise  sternly  spoken  :  -  I 
will  see  hun  again,  though  it  were  but  to  die  at  hia 
leeL  1  ill  then,  farewell,  Edgar  Montague !  farew«U 
my  hopes  of  happiness  !" 


ii 


ii. 


•l.T'  1. 


I 


468 


OLD   AND    Nzie  ;   01, 


p  if  •■•'  ■• 

■     ■•■*,',     ,f 

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a'  ' 


•'(;■'<       1...     ,■ 


CHAPTER  XXIY, 


SHORT    AND    SWEET. 


There  was  joy  at  Castle  Mahon  when  Madan. 
Von  Wiegel  and  her  daughter  returned  thither  after 
years  of  absence.  Those  at  home  were  little  changed. 
Uncle  Gerald  had  grown  somewhat  stouter,  Uncle 
Walter  somewhat  thinner,  Aunt  Helen's  matronly 
form  more  imposing,  and  Eveleen's  bright  face  had 
lost  much  of  its  lightsome  gaiety,  though  her  man- 
ner was  just  as  usual,  piquant,  lively  and  attractive. 
In  reply  to  her  aunt  and  cousin's  friendly  reproaches 
for  the  silence  observed  in  her  letters  regarding 
Bellew,  she  laughed  merrily,  and  saucily  replied  : 
"I  was  only  paying  people  back  in  their  own  coin. 
Aunt  Lydia  !  The  confidence  others" — she  glanced 
at  Bertha — "  placed  in  me,  I  placed  in  them.  Poor 
Gerald !"  she  added,  and  a  shade  of  sadness  fell  on 
ner  sunny  face  and  the  light  faded  from  her  laugh- 
ing eyes,  *'  poor  Gerald  !  if  I  had  only  seen  him  be- 
fore he  left  for  India  !" 

Choking  with  the  sudden  gush  of  feeling  that 
welled  up  from  her  inmost  heart,  Eveleen  darted 
from  the  room,  leaving  her  sympathizing  friends  to 
discuss  the  subject  with  affectionate  interest  un- 
restrained by  her  presence. 

Amongst  the  first  visitors  who  came  to  welcom« 


•  *^  - 

it 


ii':^ 


»i\ 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


469 


the  new  arrivals  was  Lord  Dimmore,  whose  faihiig 
health  had  rendered  it  necessary  for  him  to  retire 
from  diplomatic  life,  and  seek  a  renewal  of  health 
and  spirits  amongst  his  native  shades  in  the  balmy 
air  of  green-valleyed  Munster.  Disfigured  as  Alfred'* 
face  had  been  by  the  devastating  sraall-pox,  tht 
features  were  still  regular,  with  so  sweet  an  expres- 
sion pervading  all  that  Bertha,  disposed  as  she  was 
to  sympathize  with  him,  regarded  the  young  noble- 
man with  sisterly  interest  from  the  first  moment  of 
their  acquaintance.  Though  not  quite  so  tall  as 
Edgar,  his  form,  too,  was  graceful  and  symmetrical, 
whilst  the  pensive  tone  of  his  voice  and  the  extreme 
gentleness  of  his  manner  won  insensibly  on  the  heart. 
Different  as  the  brothers  were,  and  immeasurably 
superior  as  Edgar  was  in  mind  as  well  as  in  person, 
there  was  still  something  in  and  about  one  that  re- 
minded you  of  the  other,  and  that  alone  went  far  to 
establish  Lord  Dunmore  in  the  warmest  sisterly  re- 
gard of  Bertha.  And  he,  on  his  part,  loved  Bertha 
for  her  own  sake  and  that  of  his  brother,  to  whom  he 
was  devotedly  attached.  He  had  been  in  Edgar's  con- 
fidence long  enough  to  know  how  strong  and  endur- 
ing was  his  love  for  Bertha  Von  Wiegel,  and  how 
entirely  that  love  filled  his  heart.  And  now  when 
he  saw  Bertha  Montague  with  his  own  corporal  eyei 
and  heard  her  speak,  and  felt  how  tenderly  she  loved 
tlie  brother  of  whom  he  was  so  proud,  so  fond,  his 
pure,  loving  heart  yearned  towards  her,  and  never 
brother  loved  a  sister  as  he  loved  her.     It  was  th« 


:r'l 


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delight  of  both  to  sit  and  talk  of  him  so  far  away— 
in  the  midst  of  danger — so  dearly  loved — so  vividly 
remembered,  and  each,  in  turn,  revived  the  other's 
drooping  spirits  by  a  fresh  infusion  of  hope  into  the 
darkness  of  doubt  and  despondency.  With  a  sort  of 
hesitation  and  a  quickening  ofthe  heart-pulse  for  which 
she  could  scarcely  account,  Bertha  asked  Lord  Dun- 
more  whether  he  had  left  his  d.aughter  in  Madrid.  A 
smile  of  arch  intelligence  lit  up  Alfred's  face  as  he  re- 
plied :  "  No,  I  could  not  bear  to  leave  her  behind — she 
is  at  Dunraove,where  an  aged  lady  of  much  experience 
in  teaching  has  her  education  in  charge.  As  my 
daughter — the  living  image  of  my  lost  Isabella — • 
I  know  you  will  like  her, — though,  perhaps,  not 
quite  so  well,"  he  added  with  a  look  that  covered 
Bertha's  face  with  blushes,  **  as  if  she  were  only  my 
niece,  with  the  captivating  likeness  of  the  noblest  of 
all  the  Montagues !  Ah  Bertha !  how  little  you 
know  of  Edgar  when  you  could  be  made  to  believe 
him  guilty  of  a  low,  base  amour.  Forgive  me, 
though,  sweet  sister  mine,  I  meant  not  to  reproach 
you  !  I  know  how  skilfully  the  web  of  calumny  was 
woven,  and  as  Edgar  was  but  too  happy  to  forgive 
your  involuntary  injustice,  so  am  I,  too! — let  us 
think  not  of  the  past,  but  rather  look  to  the  future. 

When  my  brother  returns " 

"  But  oh,  Alfred  !  if  he  should  not  return  ?" 
"  He  will  return — how  can  you  doubt  it.  Bertha 
Montague?      Have   you  not  half  the   old  women 
ground  Castle  Mahon  praying  for  his  safe  return, 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOV. 


471 


find  are  not  your  own  hours  chiefly  spent  in  f  rayei 
for  the  same  intent  ?  Will  not  the  angels  have 
guard  over  hira,  even  for  your  dear  sake  ? — oh  doubt 
It  not !" 

Lord  Dunmore  began  in  a  jesting  tone,  but  before 
he  ended  his  pale  cheek  glowed,  and  his  voice  quiv- 
ered with  emotion. 

Bertha,  much  surprised,  was  about  to  ask  him 
how  he  came  to  know  all  this,  but  her  mother  and 
Uncle  Walter  coming  in  at  the  moment  she  cared 
not  to  pursue  the  subject  just  then. 

It  was  true,  nevertheless,  what  Alfred  said,  regard- 
ing her  private  devotions,  and  a  few  weeks  after 
that  conversation  her  Uncle  Gerald  had,  at  her 
request,  a  small  chapel  or  oratory  put  up  in  the 
Druid  Grove,  within  sight  of  the  old  Judgment- 
Seat,  and  on  its  little  altar  rnany  a  Mass  was  offered 
up  for  the  temporal  and  spiritual  welfare  of  Man- 
tague  and  Bellew — for  they  were  ever  associated  in 
the  pious  prayers  of  the  family.  There,  too,  would 
Bertha  spend  whole  hours,  sometimes  with  her 
mother,  aunt,  or  cousin,  but  ofte'ner  alone,  commun- 
ing with  her  own  heart,  and  contemplating  in  silence 
and  solitude  the  dear  image  that  was  ever  before 
her  eyes.  But  her  thoughts  were  not  sad  ones- 
anxious  and  troubled  as  they  were  at  times,  there 
was  hope  glimmering  through  the  darkness,  and 
when  she  saw  the  evening  star  peep  out  through  the 
golden  mists  of  evening,  she  would  say  to  her  own 
heart,  *'  Even  so  shall  the  light  of  4m  presence  beam 


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23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y    14580 

(716)  872-4503 


I 


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472 


OLD   AND   NEW  ;    OB, 


«K< 


on  my  eyes  !"  and  when  the  crescent  moon  monthly 
appeared  in  the  heavens,  Bertha  would  murmur, 
"  Hail  fair  moon  !  before  you  have  gone  your  allot- 
ted round  my  Edgar  may  be  here  !"  Yes,  her  Ufa 
was  a  life  of  hope,  and  a  life  of  prayer. 

Letters  came  occasionally — as  often,  indeed,  as 
the  unsettled  state  of  those  Indian  provinces  would 
permit — from  the  loved  and  absent.  Characteristic 
the  letters  were;  Montague's  deep,  earnest,  and 
impassioned — Bellew's  (to  Eveleen)  half  gay,  half 
sad,  sportive  yet  tender,  always  hopeful,  never 
desponding. 

In  the  drawing-room  at  Castle  Mahon  a  new  and 
beautiful  portrait  graced  the  wall,  close  by  the  door 
of  the  conservatory.  It  was  a  copy  of  the  picture 
of  Edgar  Montague  which  hung  in  the  picture-gal- 
lery at  Dunmore.  This  was  a  present  to  Bertha 
from  Lord  Dunmore,  who  had  secretly  employed  an 
eminent  artist  to  take  the  copy  very  soon  after  Mrs. 
Montague's  arrival  at  Castle  Mahon.  This  was  an 
agreeable  surprise  for  Bertha,  but  a  far  more  agree- 
able one  was  not  far  distant.  Twelve  months  had 
passed — and  oh  !  how  long  they  seemed  to  Bertha, 
for,  true  it  is  that 

"  Expectation  elogs  the  wings  of  time 

With  more  thaa  leaden  weight."  ^         ^ 

Battles  had  been  fought  in  India,  and  lists  of  the 
''  killed  and  wounded"  had  been  published,  and 
some  one  of  Bertha's  tender  friends  had  glanced 
over  each  mournful  list  before  it  was  suffered  to 


■s- 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHIOK. 


473 


meet  her  or  Eveleen's  eyes,  but  happily  the  name 
of  Montague  or  Bellew  was  not  on  any  of  tliem — 
save  once  when  Major  Montague  was  reported  aa 
"  slightly  wounded  in  the  sword  arm."  Even  that 
had  filled  Bertha  with  increased  anxiety  from  which 
she  was  still  suffering  when  one  evening  late  in  Sep- 
tember she  sat  alone  and  in  tears  in  her  little  wood- 
land chapel. 

"  The  evening  sun  was  sinking 

With  a  mild  light  calm  and  mellow/* 

but  the  golden  beauty  of  the  sunset,  nor  the  varied 
sheen  of  the  autumn  woods  could  cheer  the  heart 
that  was  beginning  to  despond,  or  restore  one  tint 
of  freshnes  J  to  the  cheek  that  was  pale  with  long 
watching  and  that  hope  which  "  deferr'd  raaketh 
the  heart  sick."  ' 

All  at  once  a  quick  light  step  crushed  the  with- 
ered leaves  which  already  lay  thick  on  the  narrow 
pathway — a  shadow  darkened  the  sunlight  at  the 
door,  and  a  voice  sweeter  than  harp  or  lute — a  voic« 
low  and  soft  and  tender  as  the  sigh  of  the  autumn 
breeze — spoke  one  word,  "  Bertha .'" 

Starting  from  hsr  mournful  reverie  Bertha  Mon- 
tague looked  up  and  there  stood  Edgar,  paler  and 
thinner  than  when  they  parted,  but  still  there  in 
very  deed.  His  eyes  were  smiling  on  her  as  of  old, 
and  when  she  sprang  to  his  arms  with  a  cry  of  joy 
he  pressed  her  to  his  heart  and  held  her  there  an 
though  he  feared  to  lose  her  again  on  the  moment. 

"  Wer«  those  tears  for  me  ?"    he  fondly  asked, 


■■;! 
.•I 

*] 


474 


OLD   AMD   NEW  :   OR. 


**  but  I  know  they  were,"  and  he  kissed  them  away. 
"  How  pale  you  are,  dear  lovo !  Oh  Bertha !  you 
have  sufteredl" 

"And  you,  Edgar? — you  are  sadly  altered.  What 
of  your  wound?" 

"  Think  not  of  it.  Bertha !  but  for  it  I  should  not 
now  be  here  and  the  bliss  of  this  moment  were 
worth  fifty  such  wounds.  If  Gerald  could  only 
have  come  with  me  I  should  have  been  but  too,  too 
happy." 

"  He  is  not  with  you,  then  ?" 

Montague  shook  his  head.  "  As  he  had  not  the 
good  fortune  to  be  wounded,  or  put  on  the  sick  list, 
there  was  no  possibility  of  his  obtaining  leave  of 
absence — indeed,  he  could  not  think  of  asking  it." 

"  Poor  Eveleen !"  murmured  Bertha,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears  of  sympathy,  "  have  you  seen  her 
yet?" 

"Just  for  a  moment — when  I  heard  you  were 
here  I  rejoiced  to  know  that  I  should  find  you  alone, 
and  scarcely  waited  to  shake  hands  with  your  mother 
and  the  rest.  What  a  charming  little  temple  you 
have  here,  Bertha  1" 

'  "  It  is  a  temple  of  love,  Edgar  !  meant  as  a  retreat 
where  I  could,  unseen  by  mortal  eye,  weep  and  pray 
for  my  dearer  self— exposed  to  danger,  perhaps  to 
death." 

"Take  care,  Bertha !  you  will  make  me  too  proud !" 
whispered  Montague ;  "  you  forget  that  I  am — Don 
Bellianus!  apropos  to  that,  I  was  glad  to  see  by  your 


TASTE    VERSUS    TASHIOK. 


415 


last  letter  that  Robert  Murray  has  been  endeavor- 
ing to  console  himself  for  the  loss  he  had  sustained 
by  taking  to  himself  a  wife.  But,  dearest !  I  havQ 
had  such  a  strange  letter  from  Lady  Susan,  dated 
from  New  York  a  few  days  after  my  departure." 

"  And  what  did  she  say,  Edgar  ?"  cried  Bertha, 
raising  herself  in  his  arras  till  she  looked  in  his  face. 

"  She  said,  amongst  many  other  wild  and  wicked 
things,  that  she  would  not  leave  our  married  life 
untroubled,  at  least,  that  she  would  raise  a  spirit 
which  we  should  find  more  terrible  than  was  the 
ghost  of  Samuel  to  Saul  of  old — and  that" — he 
stopped. 

"  Nay  tell  me,  Edgar  !  tell  me  all !" 

"  She  said,  sweet  love !  that  she  would  dash  the 
cup  of  joy  from  your  lips  when  you  least  expected. 
But  we  can  now  defy  her  malice,  else  had  I  never 
told  you  of  her  dark  threats." 

"  Unhappy  woman !"  said  Bertha  In  a  tone  half 
pity,  half  horror,  "  she  can  never  now  disturb  our 
peace.  Heard  you  not,  dear  Edgar !  of  her  sad 
fate?" 

"  Surely  no  !  what  was  it  ? — how  ?'* 

"  She  and  Sir  Henry  were  both  lost  in  the  ill-fatefi 

Bteamer ,  whose  mysterious  disappearance  on 

her  passage  from  New  York  to  Liverpool  is  still  the 
wonder  of  the  hour  1" 

"  Groat  God !  and  she  perished  in  her  sins — her 
dark  deadly  sins !" 

"With  pain  I  answer  'yes!' — it  is  even  so — Sii 


!>' 


(ii 


fe 


47« 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;    OR 


Henry  and  Lady  Susan  Burke  were  the  first  namci 
on  the  list  of  passengers  lost !" 

"  How  wonderful  are  the  ways  of  God  I"  said 
Edgar  with  solemn  reverence,  "  how  terrible  His 
vengeance! — poor  Lady  Susan!  now  I  can  forgive 
her — before  I  found  it  hard  to  do  so !" 

"  Oh,  Edgar  1"  sighed  Bertha,  the  tears  streaming 
unheeded  from  her  eyes,  "  I  pitied  even  more  than 
I  blamed  her  at  the  worst  of  times — how  could  1 
but  pity  her  ?  she  loved  you — not  wisely  but  too 
well — and  none  could  feel  like  me  what  she  roust 
have  felt  in  losing  you  To  her  darkened  mind  it 
appeared  that  I  had  robbed  her  of  your  love.*' 

"  She  could  not  think  so,*'  said  Montague  sternly, 
"  she  knew  she  hever  had  my  love — no,  not  for  one 
brief  moment — and  she  knew,  moreover,  that  the 
more  she  strove  to  gain  it  the  faithor  she  was  from 
succeeding.  No,  no,  Bertha !  even  had  she  never 
been  affianced  to  my  brother,  she  never  could  have 
been  my  choice.  You  know  it.  Bertha!  you  know 
there  was  but  otie — but  one  in  all  the  world  that 
ever  could,  or  ever  did,  awaken  love  in  me  1" 

"And  that  on&  a  marble  image,  with  a  stony 
heart — how  hard  your  lot  is,  Edgar  Montague  I" 

"  Very  hard,  indeed,  Bertha  MorUcigiie  !  only  thai 
I  happen  to  have  and  to  hold  the  marble  image  domi 
and  I  shall  try  if  I  have  not  power  to  soften  it  !* 
The  rich  glow  that  crimsoned  Bertha's  cheek  had 
not  yet  died  away  when  her  mother  and  all  ths 
family — Eveleen  alone  excepted — made  their  appear* 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


47T 


:<nce  at  the  door,  claiming  a  share  of  Major  Mon« 
tague's  attention. 

And  now  what  more  have  I  to  say  before  taking 
leave  of  those  who  have  so  long  occupied  my  best 
attention  ?  Is  it  necessary  for  me  to  say  that  Edgar 
Montague  and  Bertha  were  happy  in  each  other  f 
If  it  be,  I  have  aone  but  little  justice  to  either  in 
presenting  them  to  the  reader.  They  were  happy — 
as  happy  as  mortals  can  be  on  earth,  and  Madam 
Von  Wiegel  was  happier  than  she  ever  expected  to 
have  been  in  this  world,  and  what  is  more,  Eveleen 
and  Bellew  were  happy,  too,  for  in  three  months 
after  Montague's  arrival,  Bellew's  regiment  was  or- 
dered home,  and  the  long-looked-for  wedding  took 
place  at  Castle  Mahon. 


CONCLUSION. 

Now  that  Old  and  New  is  brought  to  a  close,  I 
would  make  a  few  remarks  connected  .vith  the  sub- 
ject-matter of  the  story,  before  the  reader  and  I  part 
company.  In  the  first  place,  I  have  heard,  from  va- 
rious quarters,  both  in  and  out  of  New  York,  that 
many  people  suppose  the  characters  in  this  story  to 
be  photographs  of  real  men  and  women.  This  I  here 
distinctly  and  formally  deny.  That  the  world  around 
us  does  abound  with  such  characters  as  Mrs.  Gal- 
lagher and  her  daughters,  the  three  Miss  llacketts— « 
as  the  reader  first  saw  them — with  Lil  Smiths  and 
Dora  Bradys  ad  infinitum^  is  a  fact  patent  to  all 


478 


OLD    AND    NEW  j    OR 


That  Greens  and  Browns,  Frosts  and  Winters,  are 
floating  through  American,  and  especially  New 
York  society,  thick  aa  midges  in  the  sunbeam^  iici 
one  will  pretend  to  deny,  and  that  many  a  hard-work- 
ings industrious  father  has  the  mortification  of  seeing 
his  fashionably-educated  young  daughters  throw 
themselves  away  on  such  two-legged  butterflies- 
tailors'  blocks  set  in  motion — is  just  as  undeniable, 
but  that  I  have  had  any  particular  family,  or  indi- 
vidual  in  view  in  delineating  my  characters,  I  alto- 
gether deny.  They  are  one  and  all  the  creatures  of 
imagination — some,  perhaps,  of  memory  (at  least  to 
some  extent),  but  not  one  of  present  existence.  That 
BO  many  of  the  actors  in  my  drama  of  life  have  been 
identified  with  living  persons  proves  to  my  satisfac- 
tion, at  least,  that  I  have  succeeded  in  holding 
the  mirror  up  to  nature,  but  I  should  be  sorry,  in- 
deed, if  the  cap,  being  fitted  to  so  many  heads, 
pressed  too  hard  on  the  bumps  of  some  cranii.  It 
has  been  said,  too,  that  I  have  dealt  too  hardly  with 
persons  who  rise  by  their  own  industry  from  an  in- 
ferior position  in  society.  That  is  a  charge  still 
more  unfounded  than  the  other,  and  its  absurdity 
will,  I  think,  strike  every  impartial  and  enlightened 
reader.  Did  not  Tom  Gallagher  rise  with  his  family, 
yet  Tom  is  held  up  for  the  reader's  respect,  and  so  is 
Henry  Hackett,  and  John  McConogiiy,  and  the 
Fogartys  generally,  yet  they  all  raised  themselves 
from  an  obscure  position  by  honest  and  perse- 
exertion.     No,    assuredly,    it    is    not    the 


vering 


TASTE    VERSUS    FASHION. 


479 


aflcent  of  our  people  in  the  social  scale  which 
I  have  satirized,  but  the  follies  and  extravagant 
pretensions  of  some  amongst  them  when  they  do 
succeed  in  gaining  a  position.  I  would  have  them 
make  fortunes  if  they  honestly  and  properly  can,  but 
when  the  fortunes  are  made,  I  would  have  them 
used  and  enjoyed  in  a  reasonable,  temperate  manner, 
without  rushing  into  every  extreme  of  fashion  or 
adopting  every  whim  of  folly  in  order  to  spend  them. 
Much  good  may  be  done  in  the  world  by  those  who 
have  money  at  command,  provided  they  know  how 
to  use  it.  It  will  undoubtedly  give  them  many  ad- 
vantages over  their  less  fortunate  fellow-creatures, 
but  the  unlimited  use  of  money,  or  rather  the  abuse 
of  it,  far  from  bringing  peace  and  happiness  to  the 
possessor,  or  winning  the  world's  respect,  may  only 
be  productive  of  misery,  and  excite  ridicule  and  con- 
tempt. People  who  make  fortunes  in  America 
would  do  well  to  remember  that  Fashion  is  not  only 
a  capricious  deity,  but  a  most  unsafe  guide  to  follow 
— an  ignig  fatuus  many  degrees  worse  than  our  child- 
hood's terror  *'  Will  o'  the  wisp."  Her  requirements 
are  incessant  and  most  exacting,  and  there  is  no 
tyranny  so  slavish  as  hers,  for  those  who  worship  at 
her  shriiie  hero  no  will  of  their  own,  but  live,  and 
move,  and  breathe  under  hor  dictation.  The  life  of 
&  *' fashionable  lady"  is  a  continual  thraldom,  in 
which  all  the  powers  of  the  mind  and  all  the  affec- 
iions  of  the  heart,  nay,  all  the  moments  of  life,  ar« 
pressed  into  the  service  of  despotic  Fashion      Envy, 


480 


OLD    AND    NEW  j    OR, 


lealousy,  deceit,  and  all  uncharitableness  follow  in 
the  train  of  that  ruthless  tyrant,  and  all  society  ii 
made  to  feel  more  or  less  its  malign  influence.  It 
flitters  away  the  finest  intellect  and  petrifies  the 
warmest  heart — destroys  all  noble  sentiments,  and, 
in  fine,  weighs  like  an  incubus  on  our  so-called 
civilized  society,  more  or  less  demoralizing  every  class 
in  the  community. 

Taste,  as  opposed  to  Fashion,  I  have  endeavored, 
I  hope  not  unsuccessfully,  to  illustrate  in  the  quiet, 
natural,  unpretending  life  of  the  really  elegant  an^ 
refined  Von  Wiegels  with  their  friends  the  Murrays, 
each  in  their  own  degree.  I  know  the  Von  Wiegels 
have  few,  if  any,  representatives  in  democratic  New 
York,  but  I  purposely  connected  them  with  high 
aristocratic  circles  in  the  Old  World  in  order  to 
show  the  difference  between  vulgar  show  and  re- 
fined taste,  always  simple,  easy,  and  void  of  all 
exaggeration — dressing  well  without  attaching  any 
importance  to  dress,  or  making  it  the  subject  of  con- 
sideration on  any  and  every  occasion. 

There  is  another  remark  which  I  desire  to  make 
before  I  lay  down  my  pen — another  prevailing 
folly  of  Irish- American  society.  I  allude  to  the 
scarcely-concealed,  and  too  often  openly-paraded, 
contempt  of  everything  Irish.  Now,  in  the  children 
of  Irish  parents  this  is  in  the  worst  possible  taste, 
and  is  calculated  to  produce  a  very  different  effect 
from  what  they,  doubtless,  intend.  So  far  from 
Hipressing  people  of  other  origins  with  respect  foi 


TASTE    VERSUS    FA8HI0K. 


iS 


themgelves  individually,  they  only  excite  their  pity 
and  contempt.  Who  ever  hears  the  son  or  daughter 
of  Scotch  parents  ridiculing  Scotland  or  anythinj^ 
Scotch  ?  Does  the  young  American-Spaniard  or 
Frenchman  sneer  at  Spanish  or  French  customs,  or  cu  rl 
his  raoustached  lip  at  the  mention  of  Spain  or  France? 
Does  not  the  American-German,  whether  of  th^ 
first,  second,  or  third  generation,  look  back  with 
proud  affection  to  the  glories  and  beauties  of  "  Fa- 
derland  ?" 

"  I  hear  tbem  speak  of  my  Father-land, 

And  I  foel  like  a  mountain-child, 
When  they  tell  of  the  gallant  Jager  hand, 

And  the  chamois  bounding  wild. 
Of  the  snow-capt  hills  to  heaven  that  soar, 

And  the  avalanche's  fall. 
Of  the  chalet's  joys  when  the  chase  is  o'er, 

And  the  Rans-dea -Vaehea  they  calU" 

Such  is  the  love  of  the  German-Switzer  born  in 
distant  climes  for  the  land  where  his  fathers  lived 
and  died.  ' 

And  the  French-Canadian  of  to-day,  whose  fathers 
came  over  with  Cartier  or  Champlain,  more  than  two 
hundred  years  ago,  is  as  proud  of  the  French  blood 
in  his  veins  as  though  he  were  born  by  the  Seino 
or  Loire  instead  of  the  St.  Lawrence  or  the  Ottawa. 
He  still  looks  back  with  proud  devotion  to  that 
"  belle  France"  he  has  never  seen  and  never  may  see. 

And  is  Ireland  less  worthy  of  the  love  and  fond 
remembrance  of  her  children  and  their  children 


482 


OU)    AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


wherever  Providence  may  have  cast  their  lot?  Ii 
Bhe  not  as  beautiful,  ao  romantic,  as  Scotland — are 
not  her  hills  and  her  dales,  her  founts  and  streams, 
as  classic  as  those  of  Germany  or  S>vitzerland  ? 
Have  not  valor  and  patriotism,  and  chivalrous  de- 
votion, illumined  the  darkest  pages  of  her  history! 
If  France  has  her  Bayard  and  Du  Guesclin,  and 
Spain  her  Cid  and  her  Alonzo  d'Aguilar,  and 
Switzerland  her  Tell  and  Hofer,  and  Scotland 
her  Wallace  and  her  Bruce,  has  not  Ireland 
her  Art  McMurrogh,  her  Hugh  O'Donnel,  her 
Owen  Roe,  her  Sarsfield  ?  If  England  has  her 
Alfred,  Ireland  has  her  Brian  Borohme,  as  wise  a 
king,  as  brave  a  leader,  and  as  skilful  a  diplomatist. 
If  other  nations  have  their  poets  and  orators,  and 
men  of  letters,  their  painters  and  their  sculptors,  Ire- 
land has  hers  as  well.  And  where  Christian  fortitude 
and  Christian  faith  are  in  question,  what  nation  can 
show  so  bright  a  record,  so  fair  a  shield  as  long-suf- 
fering, much-enduring,  eVer-faithful  Ireland  ? 

Is  it  because  she  is  unfortunate — doubtless  for  the 
furtherance  of  God's  views  on  men — that  her  de- 
scendants in  other  climes  should  despise  her  ?  Shame 
on  the  degenerate  spirit  of  Ireland's  son  or  daugh- 
ter that  would  even  tacitly  co..  ive  at  so  foul  an  in- 
justice !  They  are  unworthy  of  the  race  from  which 
they  spring — the  "  far-descended  Gael" — they  are  a 
disgrace  to  tha  country  that  sent  th'^ir  fathers  forth 
to  b'  tt!d  bravely  with  the  world. 

One  thing  is  certain — and  our  pseudo  American- 


Taste  vbrsus  fashion. 


489 


lame 
lugh. 
In  in- 
'^hich 
ire  a 
forth 

[can- 


Irish  may  believe  me  when  I  say  it — that  intelligent, 
well-bred  foreigners  who  hcA.r  them  deny  the  coun- 
try of  their  ancestors — the  cradle  of  their  race- 
will  set  them  down  in  their  own  hearts  as  sorry 
specimens  of  a  noble  race,— displaying  by  their 
mean  toadyism  to  those  of  different  origins,  the 
lowness  of  their  own  extraction.  For  it  is  to  be 
observed — and  has  been  invariably  remarked — that 
Irish  ladies  and  Irish  gentlemen — or  those  who  have 
had  the  advantage  of  reallv^oorf  ^  ''ty  in  Ireland  or 
elsewhere,  are  never  ashamed  of  be;;.g  Irish — never 
affect  contempt  for  Ireland  or  t^e  ir'sh,  nev^r  seem 
to  suppose  that  then  '.s  anything  disf/ractlul  in  beiitg 
Irish,  and  are,  therefore,  well  conf  nt  to  be  Irish, 
without  aping  the  manners  or  adopting  the  senti* 
ments  of  any  other  nation. 

If  there  be  any  one  class  of  persons  for  whom  I, 
individually,  entertain  a  thorough  contempt,  it  is 
those — and  unfortunately  they  are  here  "neither 
few  nor  far  between,"  who,  with  Irish  blood  in  their 
veins,  and  Irish  names  for  appellatives,  take  special 
delight  on  all  occaeions,  public  and  private,  in  ri- 
diculing "the  Irish"  and  sneering  at  everything 
Irish,  as  though  it  were  highly  offensive  to  their 
olfactory  nerve.  The  ".Pa  and  Ma^s  Lish,  but  I 
can't  help  that^^^  is  disgustingly  prevalent  in  this 
country,  and  I  would  earnestly  beg  of  all  intelligent 
Irish  parents,  teachers,  and,  ;;bove  all,  priests,  to  set 
their  faces  against  these  ridiculous  airs,  and  repress, 
by  every  means  in  theii*  power,  the  growth  of  a 


liwtl 


484 


OI-D   AND    NEW  ;    OR, 


eentiinent  «o  unjust  to  an  old  and  noble  nation,  bo 
degrading  to  the  people  themselves,  so  subversive 
of  every  lofty  and  chivalrous  feeling.  Let  the  young 
eons  and  daughters  of  the  Irish  race  in  America  be 
taught — not  to  laugh  at  Ireland  through  the  exag- 
gerated and  unnatural  caricatures  drawn  by  her  ene- 
mies for  stage  effect — not  to  encourage  with  their 
approbation  the  vulgar  cant  songs  so  common  now 
a-days  (and  differing  entirely  from  the  good  comic 
songs  which  really  represent  Irish  humor),  which 
tend  so  strongly  to  foster  a  contempt  for  Ireland  in 
the  minds  of  the  young, — but  rather  to  study  what 
Ireland  was,  and  is,  to  see  what  Ireland  and  the  Irish 
race  have  done,  and  so  to  judge  of  her  claims  to  a 
share  of  the  world's  respect.  If  they  be  Catholics 
it  will  be  easy  to  make  them  love  and  honor  Ireland, 
and  if  they  do  not  love  and  honor  her,  the  fault  is  with 
those  who  have  the  training  of  them.  French  and 
Austrian,  Polish  and  Spanish  Catholics,  and  Italian, 
too,  if  they  still  ha^e  the  faith  of  Christ,  never  men- 
tion Catholic  Ireland  without  respect — they  honor 
her  as  the  mother  of  saints  and  martyrs,  whose  mis- 
sionaries brought  Gospel-truth  not  seldom  to  their 
pagan  fathers.  They  are  proud  to  acknowledge 
their  indebtedness  to  the  Irish  Church,  and  willingly 
yield  precedence  to  Ireland  as  their  senior  in  the 
faith,  and  "  the  oldest  Catholic  nation  in  Western 
Europe."  It  is  reserved  for  American  Catholics — 
too  often  the  children  of  Irish  parents — to  look  coldly 
and  jealously  on  Ireland  and  frowu  down  her  claiinai 


TASTE   VERSUS    FASHION. 


485 


tion,  80 
versive 
B  young 
3i-ica  be 
le  exag- 
ber  ene- 
,h  their 
)ii  now 
i  comic 
,  which 
land  iu 
y  what 
le  Irish 
ns  to  a 
itholics 
reland, 
is  with 
toh  and 
[talian, 
!!'  men- 
honor 
se  mis- 
o  their 
wledge 
illingly 
'  in  the 
''estern 
olios — 
;  coldly 
DlaimaL 


These  persons  seem  always  desirous  to  place  poor 
Ireland  where  Lord  Mark  Ker,  a  Governor  of  Ber- 
wick, in  the  olden  time,  would  have  placed  the  run- 
away General,  Sir  John  Cope,  what  time  he  took 
French  leave  of  his  army,  and  left  them  to  faoe  the 
Highland  host,  as  best  they  could  for  him  : 

"  I  think  you  deserve  the  back  o'  the  gate 
Get  out  o'  my  sight  this  mornin' !" 

Even  so  it  is  with  our  would-be  somebody 
American-Irish  Catholics ;  they  are  forever  sending 
Ireland  to  "  the  back  o*  the  gate,"  and  are  mightily 
indignant  because  she  will  not  go  there,  "  and  get 
out  of  their  sight,'*  like  an  obedient  spaniel  when 
they  bid  her.  Cry  them  mercy,  there  is  still  room 
for  dear  Old  Ireland  on  the  world's  stage,  and  she 
has  true  hearts  to  love  her  and  minstrels  to  sing  her 
prai&e,  and  orators  to  proclaim  her  rights,  and  a 
Church  and  an  Altar  on  which  the  blight  of  heresy 
has  never  fallen. 

Why,  then,  should  not  the  descendants  of  the 
Catholic  Irish  in  America  love  and"  honor  the  Old 
Land,  when  countless  generations  of  their  brave 
and  pious  ancestors  calmly  await  the  resurrection  in 
the  hallowed  soil  of  Ireland  ?  Why  should  they  lend 
themselves  to  the  senseless  folly,  the  un-Catludie 
prejudice  that  here  makes  the  word  Iri&h  synony- 
mous with  disgrace.  Not  that  I  would  have  them 
Uwe  America  less  as  the  great  and  free  and  noble 
country  of  their  birth,  but  I  would  have  them  res- 
ped     Ireland  more  than  they   do— I  would   hav» 


ii 


\- 


1 1 


■  I  ■ 

i! 
il 

!  i 


196 
them 


OLD    AND    NEW  ;     0«, 


t  to  be  ashamed  of  their  Irish  ancestry,  of 
join  in  holding  up  their  fatherland  to  the  ridicule 
and  contempt  of  others  who  are  bound  to  it  by  no 
ties  other  than  that  of  our  common  humanity.  I-et 
them  only  treat  Ireland  as  the  American  French,  or 
German,  or  Spanish,  Swedes,  Danes,  or  Norwegians, 
treat  those  several  countries  whsn  they  are  men- 
tioned in  their  presence — let  them  cherish  the  name 
and  fame  of  their  fatherland  as  those  other  races, 
even  in  America,  do  theirs — we  ask  or  claim  no 
more. 

One  word  more  and  I  leave  Old  and  New  to  the 
tender  mercies  of  the  public.  It  is  often  said  by  in- 
telligent persons,  not  Irish,  that  we  Irish  claim  too 
much  at  the  hands  of  others.  There  may  be  soma 
truth  in  the  remark,  but  if  there  be,  the  fact  is  easily 
accounted  for.  If  too  much  be  claimed  for  Ireland, 
it  is  because  too  little  is  given  her.  Were  people  on 
this  side  the  Atlantic  willing  to  give  Ireland  her 
feiir  share  of  merit,  they  would  hear  less  of  Ireland's 
claims.  By  their  affected  contempt  of  a  country 
and  a  people  who,  with  all  their  faults,  are  entitled 
to  respect,  they  make  it  incumbent  on  Irish  writers 
and  Irish  orators  to  state  the  case  in  their  own  be- 
half. With  these  remarks  I  take  my  leave— for  the 
present.  :'f.  •^. :  .    ' 


THl  BNBw 


; 


